The Gutter Theatrical
by Juniorstarcatcher
Summary: The Capitol doesn't believe that Gale Hawthorne is Katniss Everdeen's cousin. Gale will do anything to help save Katniss. Even if that means pretending to be in love with Madge Undersee.
1. Chapter 1

My urge to regurgitate my lunch has little to do with the violent deaths currently playing on the television monitor in my maths class. Well, technically speaking, I suppose it has a little to do with the Hunger Games, but not directly. Mostly, my green look has everything to do with Gale Hawthorne. Yes, Katniss Everdeen's infamous "cousin," which is really where the whole mess of it begins.

* * *

"I'm sure Katniss-" My father's voice is cut off by Haymitch, who I gather is on the other end of the line.

I eavesdrop regularly on my father through his office door. And the first morning after Katniss' Hunger Games interview is no exception. But as my father talks to Haymitch, my anxiety no longer just concerns getting caught listening at keyholes. Now that the phone call involves my best- and only- friend's life, my knees and hands begin to shake in fear. I strain to catch every breath that my father's tired voice utters.

"I'm really not sure how much I can do about that. You know how headstrong teenage boys are."

I can hear desperation color my father's tone and I understand why. His first concern, I imagine, is that our home is currently invaded by an entourage of Capitol attendees and at any moment he can be heard.

But aside from that, every year, a new batch of tributes gets sent to their deaths, and every year, Daddy's only friend and my mother's only reason to ever get out of bed returns more callous and hardened. The last thing Daddy wants to do is contribute to the further destruction of Haymitch Abernathy, but I can tell that he truly is at a loss for how to help.

However, his words confuse me. He couldn't be talking about Peeta. Haymitch controls the baker's future and couldn't be asking my father for help.

"If the Capitol doesn't believe they're cousins, I can't-"

Immediately, I understand who my father and Haymitch discuss. Since Katniss' reaping, Gale Hawthorne has been telling everyone that he is a close relative of the Everdeens to gain access to the family.

I wonder for a long moment, confused as to why in the world my father and Haymitch of all people are discussing Gale Hawthorne, the boy from the Seam.

But then it all clicks. The Capitol isn't buying that a handsome man like Gale is just Katniss' cousin, especially now that Peeta has made her look desirable. Gale has to prove they are platonic.

"I'll discuss that with him," My father snaps.

The phone slams on its receiver and I scurry from my crouched position, heart racing at the thought of getting caught. Once in the safety of my room, I imagine my father ordering the peacekeepers to collect Gale and bring him to our home for a private meeting to discuss strategy and I scoff. Gale will suffer sound lashing before ever allowing that to happen. But someone has to tell him...

* * *

So here I am. The next day, sitting in my maths class, ignoring the replays of the interviews and flashbacks to previous Games, I mentally run through my lines once more. My feet tap anxiously on the cheaply laid floor, the tedious noise rebounding off of the walls. The seconds tick by purposefully slow, until finally the bell rings.

Breezing past the student population, bursting out into the fresh air, my eyes scan the sidewalk before the school, hoping to catch him before he collects his brothers on the front lawn. I scurry along the path in his direction, my eyes trained downward.

"Can I talk to you?" I ask when I finally reach him.

Well, that wasn't what I planned. I cringe at my gaff, but stand mr ground before the future miner. Gale turns to me expectantly; his mouth is set in a grim line. As his eyes scan my body, from the top of my combed hair to my scuff-free shoes, I internally brace myself for him to make another comment about my clothes. He refrains, however, and cocks his head to one side.

I know he doesn't like me. It is no secret. But this conversation is not about Gale and Madge or the Seam and the Town. It's about bringing Katniss home alive, returning her to Prim, her mother, and us. The two friends she left behind. That's all. It's business. And surely Gale understands business, right?

"About what, Undersee?"

Gale's hostility is normal, but it is heightened since our mutual best friend has been whisked away to her possible slaughter. I look around at the increasingly thickening crowd of students flooding from the school building and lean into him.

"Katniss," I mutter, hoping upon hope that no one is looking at us.

But then I remember that this is school. No one looks at me. They look through me. And that part of my fear is quelled.

If his face is hard before, it is stone now.

"Rory! Vick! Let's go!" He shouts over the crowd, turning sharply toward them and walking away from me with sturdy strides.

I hear the crunch of his boots against the loose pebbles and my stomach sinks. Desperation fills me. Oh no you don't. Katniss needs you, I think to myself and I make a desperate move. I lunge for his arm and grab it roughly, tugging on it with little force. Shocked at my act and not from the actual pressure of my pull, I think, he turns.

"I need to talk to you, Hawthorne," I insist, dropping my hand when his gaze lingers at the spot where my flesh wraps around his.

But by this point, Rory and Vick lumber up to Gale's side.

"Hi, Madge," Rory says, a large smile spreading across his face.

Vick smiles timidly up to me, looking nervously between his brother and I as though he senses the tension. I managed to return a smile to both of them. Just because their brother happens to be the most difficult boy I've ever met doesn't mean they have to suffer from me.

In the back of mind, I note just how different all the siblings are. Not only in looks, for all three of them look typical of Seam children, but their real differences lie in disposition. Gale's face never falters, always locked in a constant mask and always choosing his words carefully. Vick speaks little; however, he betrays everything with his expression. Rory stands somewhere in the middle, talking in the faith that anything he forgets to say will be painted across his wildly expressive face.

"First name terms with my brother?" Gale asks, his eyebrow quirking upward skeptically.

I open my mouth to speak, but Rory pipes up instead.

"She helps me and Prim with reading during First Block in the morning. She's good, too," Rory reaches up to slap me approvingly on the shoulder.

I laugh, looking down at him with grateful fondness. Seeing a friendly face in the middle of Gale's ocean of condescension is comforting, and the nerves in my stomach lessen at his lauding.

"Rory, can I talk to your brother alone?" I ask, giving him a small smile.

Mumbling something under his breath about "Ooh, alone!" Rory complies without protest, grabbing his silent brother by the arm and dragging him a few feet away and out of earshot.

My nerves return. But as I watch them go, I catch sight of Prim wandering out of the school building, and it gets me thinking. If Katniss can volunteer to save the life of her sister, surely I can do this one favor to try and bring her home. Gale's attitude problem is just that: a problem, but after Katniss sat with me at lunch everyday and broke the law to ensure that my family pantry was constantly stocked with strawberries, surely I can endure Gale's little problem for a few moments more.

"They don't believe you," I spit out stupidly, throwing to the wind everything that I had planned to say.

Gale allows a look of confusion to slip over his mask of indifference.

"Who?" he asks.

I take in a big gulp of breath as I suddenly realize that my heart rate has outrun me.

"The Capitol. They don't believe that you're Katniss' cousin. There are rumors that you're just saying that to get out of the way for Peeta. It's not working."

I had planned to go about everything in an oh-so-subtle manner, dipping everything in coy savior faire. That's how my dad would have done it. The only difference is that I am doing it without Peacekeepers. Yet there I am. Just spitting out whatever comes to mind. Fear makes a complete idiot of Madge Undersee, that's for sure.

"You're joking," he says, vomiting the words out as though they make him physically ill.

I shake my head, resigning myself to my stupidity and accepting it. New plans form in my mind. Bluntness might work better with a boy like Gale anyway.

"I thought you would rather hear it from me and not from my father. I didn't want him sending Peacekeepers to come find you and drag you to his office. Haymitch called last night-"

The words just come out in a big pile. I am shocked if he understands even one syllable of it. When I finally look up from the ground, his eyes are waiting for mine.

"Go home," he throws is word at me, looking grim.

Wordlessly, he storms over to his siblings and before I can even get a word out, they begin their trek toward the Seam.

* * *

**So, that is the first chapter! I have about thirteen chapters written (12 of those edited) and so I will hopefully be posting once a week! Please give me feedback and input! I hope you enjoyed it!**


	2. Chapter 2

"Gale! Gale!" I shout after him once I collect myself again.

But he doesn't stop or even hesitate. He disappears before I can even get his name out a third time. My shoulders slump in defeat and I release a weighted breath. I let Katniss down. Tears prickle at the back of my eyes painfully. But then I catch sight of Vick lingering behind his younger brother, and an idea pops in my head. A crazy idea, perhaps. But an idea nonetheless. Blinking furiously, I rid myself of the tears.

I get a raw, churning feeling in the pit of my stomach, a feeling that clearly tells me to stop whatever it is that I am planning because it cannot end well, but I ignore it and begin my attempt to keep a steady pace behind the Hawthorne boys.

It is less than easy as they travel a complex maze of unfamiliar back alleys and uneven, time-worn paths, but I manage to keep them in my line of vision. I hold my breath and pray that no one notices me until we reach Gale's house. I can only imagine the cross words we will have if he tries to send me home in the middle of a Seam street.

It is a long walk from school to the Seam, and I make a mental note to count my blessings before bed. I am fortunate to live within a quick walk to and from school. Living in District Twelve, especially being the Mayor's daughter, I am not unaware of the harsh realities faced by those who live in the Seam. My father tries to protect his district as best he can. I see him struggle with advisors for hours over how to ensure the Seam's burden is lessened. Yet, I look around and my heart breaks at the sight of children learning to live with next to nothing while I live with any number of fine things.

In the distance, I see the coal conveyor belts standing tall against the mines a few miles away. On porch railings and thin wash lines in yards, threadbare clothes hang out to dry in vain. This morning's rain puts a damper on everything, giving the coal dust carried on the air an actual presence, heavy and pressing. I fight the urge to cough, knowing that if I do, I will be exposed before I am ready. When we are about a block apart, I see Rory point to a house that is indistinguishable from the rest.

"Do you need to see Prim or Mrs. Everdeen?" he asks in a hopeful voice, though I know- and I'm sure Gale knows- that his concern lies less with Mrs. Everdeen and more with Prim.

Gale shakes his head, his eyes trained forward. Finally, Vick skips ahead and turns into a house. I duck behind the warped wooden fence that outlines housing block B23, wanting to catch Gale alone.

"Ma!" I can faintly hear Vick shout from inside the screen door.

Rory's footfall follows excitedly, and the boy shouts after his brother. I hear a kind, brittle, feminine voice inside respond to them, but cannot make out what she says.

"I've heard you for the past eighteen and a half blocks, Undersee. You can come out now," Gale deadpans.

I pop out from my hiding place.

"How did you-?" I begin, crossing the space that separates us, but he cuts me off.

"I've spent more time in the forest than you've spent in your daddy's parlor."

My blank look must betray how little that explains to me. How does his time in the forest explain how he knows I'm behind him. He dips his chin and speaks slowly, deliberately, as though he is communicating to a small and difficult child.

"You have the two clumsiest feet I've ever heard. Of course I knew you were there."

"Oh," I say.

His look gives me the urge to apologize, but he cuts me off before I can.

"You should have gone to your house. I would've found you."

I look at him, from his tattered boots to his hands, calloused and hardened from working, to his stretched suspenders and suddenly realize how totally out of place I am. I should not have come, I think, no matter how much Katniss needs us. I do not belong here, and Gale's comments and direct stare make that abundantly clear. I bite the inside of my mouth and fiddle with the hem of my dress, which suddenly turns incredibly interesting as I cannot seem to take my eyes off of it.

"Look, Undersee, I think I have a plan."

Gale looks at me as though he is unaware of how exactly to proceed. Then, he casts a glance over his shoulder as though he expects someone to be standing in the door or watching through the window. When he discovers that no one is, he proceeds.

"They don't believe I'm really Katniss' cousin. So, I have to prove that, even if we weren't, it wouldn't matter. Right?"

When he looks at me, his eyes are weary. But his face is solid. I nod once that he should proceed. I hear him swallow hard.

"I'll prove it to them; be with someone. Just for The Games. Maybe a little longer. Then we wait until eyes are off of District Twelve and break it off. Right?"

His eyes lock on mine once more and I get that feeling in the pit of my gut again. The feeling that this cannot end well.

"I need you," he says with no romance or pretense.

This is a business transaction. A deal to be struck.

I blanche. Of course, it had crossed my mind before, but I realize it is, above all, a terrible idea. Do I have a better idea? No. But is this still an absolutely awful plan? Yes.

When I approached him earlier to tell him the results of my eavesdropping, I know that eventually this might be the conclusion he came to. But I never imagine he would chose me to pretend with. I splutter and my eyes widen.

"Me?" I ask.

He nods and folds his arms in front of his chest. A layer of sticky sweat spreads across my palms, and I know it is from the intense gaze of his dark eyes rather than the oppressive thickness of the air swirling around us.

"I need someone who is visible. Someone the Capitol wants to see. Not just another girl from the Seam. They already have one of those."

I look around and think back to the primped and polished team that is currently invading my home. They certainly wouldn't be caught dead in the Seam. He is right about that.

"Is it safe for you to be so visible, though? You aren't exactly the golden boy of District Twelve. I mean-"

My words are poor and I want to slap myself for them. What I mean to say is that he should not push himself in front of a camera when he is the best illegal poacher in the district, if not the entirety of Panem. Gale shakes his head at me, gulping roughly.

"That's why I need you. Cameras won't look at me when I've got the Mayor's daughter on my arm. You're who they want to see. And-" he pauses here as though this next bit pains him, "if Katniss needs to look ideal for sponsors, it might not be bad that her family is in close with the Mayor..."

It makes sense. But the fear lingers.

"This just sounds like the worst of ideas," I say, finding no tactful way of going about it.

He runs his hand over his face and grunts in frustration, kicking up some mud with the tip of his boot. My fear has grown tiresome to him, apparently.

"What's so wrong with it?" he nearly shouts at me before remembering that anyone could hear him.

What can go right with it? I want to shout at him. But I do not. My mind races. It is easy to see that Gale loves her, regardless if he has ever said the words aloud. Worst case scenario, we go through the charade and he buckles when she returns, throwing all of our work to waste. Or, Katniss dies in the arena and this would be a painful, useless effort.

Gale's patience runs thin. He sighs once, as though trying to stay calm.

"Look, do you want Katniss to come home or not?" he snaps.

My desperation from earlier in the morning now resides in Gale. Now that he can help Katniss in some capacity, he won't give up until he knows he has done everything in his power to help save her life and bring her home.

"Of course," I say, not missing a beat.

Katniss Everdeen is my only friend in the world. Without her, I am resoundingly alone. I want nothing more than for her to come home.

"Then you have to help me," he says, grabbing my hands in his, clasping them as though we are praying.

"But you hate me," I breathe.

The words come out before my filter can catch them and I instantly regret them. Not because they aren't true. I really do feel that Gale Hawthorne hates me. Most people hate me or at least dislike me. He should be no exception and has never given me reason to discredit my theory. No, I regret my words because of how Gale chooses to respond.

"No. I don't."

Gale releases my hands abruptly, shoving them away. He jumps the front steps. But just before he swings the door open, he glares back at me once more.

"I don't hate you. I hate this."

He gestures at everything around him.

"You know, we have a saying out here in the Seam."

Read: This is something you don't, can't, and never will understand.

"We say, 'Don't hate anything that keeps you alive.' Kid complains about what we're having for dinner? 'Don't hate anything that keeps you alive.' Man complains about going to the mine every day? 'Don't hate anything that keeps you alive.'"

He pauses and studies me intently for a moment, his eyes digging in and unravelling me from the inside out. A jolt of electricity passes through my veins and I gulp in a breath to cool down the sensation. But then he looks away, and the feeling passes.

"That's you, Undersee." He says, "You're the job I have to take to stay alive."

His words are like a punch in the gut. They leave me breathless, pained, and discombobulated. It takes me a moment to recover from the shock of his harsh words. But eventually, I look at him with all of the compassion I can muster. I always believed that Gale cared for nothing and no one. But then, on the day of the Reaping, when he stood behind me in line to see Katniss, I understood him perfectly. He cares for his family and the Everdeens that same way I care for my family: by detaching from anything and everyone who could be a threat. We are the same, even if I'm the only one who sees that.

"She is my best friend, too."

His eyes flash dangerously as he looks directly at me. His shoulders straighten and he raises to his full height. Gale is the dictionary picture of intimidating as the dark night shades his features and his frame towers over mine. But I refuse to waver.

"So, try to remember that we're on the same team. I understand what you're going through."

He looks up at me with a deadly expression, one that could cut glass. He accuses me with his quiet, steady voice.

"No, Undersee. No, you don't."

I hold up my hands in surrender. This is getting us nowhere.

"I'm just saying, we could be friends."

Gale begins to respond, but I never hear what comes next as mop of red hair materializes between Gale's knees. The girl gawks at me with the insatiable curiosity of a child.

"Who're you?" Her little voice squeaks from the equally small body.

Gale looks down as her head pokes out with a frown on his face.

"Posy!" he scolds, moving to grab her, but she quickly evades his grasp, lithely jumping from the house into the mud below and running toward me.

"Hi!" she says, reaching upward and offering me her hand.

I beam at her, my eyebrow lifting up.

"What a little lady you are," I commend her, taking her hand in mine and shaking it, "My name is Madge. What's yours?" I ask, kneeling down to her eye level. Briefly, the soot from the coal mines travels on a particularly strong gust of wind, wrapping us both in its murky color.

I can only imagine how simply out of place I look. A town girl- the Mayor's daughter, no less- kneeling in the fresh mud in her nicest school clothes, talking to a little Seam girl with red hair. But I don't care. Who am I trying to impress?

"Posy," she states in a lilting voice, dragging out the two syllables.

"I like your bow," she continues, matter-of-factly.

I turn my head and swish my ponytail forward so I can see the thick pink ribbon. I don't even remember putting it on this morning.

"Do you like pink?" I ask.

I ask it, and I suppose I already know the answer. Pink, and all pastels really, are a forbidden luxury in the Seam. Coal dust will coat them quickly, so they are generally never seen here as they are considered a waste of money. And everyone knows what they say about forbidden things. You want things you shouldn't have the most.

The little redhead smiles.

"Yeah," she exclaims as she nods her head violently.

Then Gale's hands wrap around the young girl's torso and he scoops her off of the ground, leaving me looking at his belt. I leap to my feet, feeling a blush rushing across my cheeks, embarrassed and even hurt by his abrupt dismissal.

"Supper time," he says flatly.

The little girl struggles against her brother's grip, wanting to jump down and walk on her own feet, I imagine.

"Can Madge stay?" she asks, so excited that her words come out breathless.

"Absolutely not," Gale says sternly without missing a beat.

Posy sighs and sinks into her brother's shoulder. She waves to me before he allows her to slide from her perch on his shoulder down onto the porch and run into the house.

"Bye, Madge! Come see me soon!" she shouts, peeking her head of red curls out of the screen door once more, a toothy grin on her face.

Gale turns back around, a rough look covering his face.

"Go!" he snaps, though there is no real heat behind it.

She ducks inside, giggling as though it is all a game.

"Don't forget to wash up!" he calls after her with a doting look hiding behind his eyes.

I duck my head and try to hide my smile as I come to a sudden and strange realization: I have found Gale Hawthorne's soft spot.

With the slam of the screen door on its rusting hinges signaling Posy's exit, Gale turns and looks at me, stoic and serious again.

"Ask your dad tonight if we can do this."

I nearly snort, knowing that by 'this,' he means our dangerously flimsy plan.

"I can't have an army of peacekeepers coming to interrogate me about it," he says brusquely, the short interlude with his sister forgotten.

"I will," I promise.

A moment of terse silence passes between us. Finally, my pent up nerves manifest into laughter. Gale gives me a clearly unamused look.

"If we're going to pretend to be in love, Gale, we have to at least be civil to each other," I say.

My smile drops. I try to catch his gaze, but he will not have that.

"Please, Gale."

He sucks in a gulp of air and looks off to his left as though he's in pain. And I almost ask why, until I realize that I already know. Neither of us really want to be here. I know he loves Katniss. No wonder he is pained. Not only does he have to try to protect the girl he loves as she dallies with another man, but he also has to pretend with me, Madge Undersee, the girl he can't stand. And I, well, I never thought my first relationship would be a fake one, much less a fake one with Gale Hawthorne.

"Will you stand with my family tomorrow?" He asks, instead of answering.

I know what that means. But he can't come out and say, "Hey, you aren't too embarrassed to be seen with me and my family, right?"

"Of course. Stop by tomorrow around noon and I'll let you know what my dad says then."

He nods, and I remember that tomorrow is his day to bring by strawberries. I wonder if he will remember or care about such a silly thing in the face of everything that is going on.

"Well, goodnight, Undersee."

I chuckle at him.

"Madge," I correct.

He smirks at me.

"Goodnight, Madge," he says, sarcasm flowing from every letter.

I know that saying my name is the closest we will ever get to calling a truce, so I smile and take it.

"Goodnight, Gale. Sleep well. Sweet dreams," I say, my words tender and thoughtless as I tell him what I tell my loved ones every night before bed.

He stiffens as though my brief goodbye offends him. We both turn to make our exits, but I can't let it go. I call out his name.

"Why'd you make Posy go inside? I thought she and I were getting along." I ask, confused.

He looks back at me, a knowing, half smile on his face. It is his turn to chuckle. The sound is surprising and oddly comforting to me. I venture to say this is the first time I have ever heard Gale actually laugh genuinely, not out of cruelty or derision. It does my heart good to hear a sound like that.

"Because you were about to take that ribbon off of your head and give it to her. That's why."

And with those words, Gale Hawthorne swiftly exits the scene.

* * *

**And that was chapter two! Before I go any farther, I need to thank my Beta above Betas, ooyeteri. She is FLAWLESS, and without her, this story would not be happening, and if it was, it would not be half the storythat you see before you. She is my fanfiction savior. Thank you all for your amazing reviews, and I cannot wait to hear your feedback on this chapter! Favorite parts? Favorite lines? Anything you're looking forward to? Anything you would like to see happen? Anything you don't want to see happen? Let me know in a review and I may give hints! I can't wait to get yourfeedback! Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

I manage to make it home from The Seam that night before the street lamps come on. I believe the Seam is not the most safe place at night, and I certainly don't want to investigate it for myself, so I hurry to retrace my steps homeward. I only get lost once and find my way by following the spire of the Justice building until I am in town.

The world I inhabit compared to Gale's is vastly different, and it strikes me the moment I step through my front door. My dining room table overflows with food, lavishly presented for our guests from the Capitol who probably will not eat a crumb of it. I sigh and walking upstairs, passing our visitors in the parlor who are glued to the television set which is tuned to Flickman's pre-game commentary without a second glance.

I hope to make it to my room and change from my clothes before seeing Daddy, but I run into him outside of his office on the second floor.

"What happened to you, Madge?" he asks, gaping at my disheveled appearance.

His worried shock is painted all over his face. I smile through a sigh and give him a kiss on the cheek, ignoring my muddy hem, my scabby knees and my wind blown hair in the hopes that he might do the same.

"I took a walk, Daddy. Can we-?" I pause, trying to assess how to best approach this situation with him, "Can we talk in your office?"

He reels for the briefest moment, sizing me up. He knows that it must be serious if it can't be said within earshot of our guests. Leaning away from me, he nods and turns the brass knob, putting a sweaty handprint on the freshly buffed metal. The heavy white wooden door swings open and he waves me in. I sit down in a red leather chair across the desk from him, picking at my finger nails nervously. My entire body stiffens, electrified by the nervous tension burning in my stomach. When my father takes his seat, I haul in a deep breath and look up.

"So, Margaret, what's wrong?" he begins, lacing his fingers together and placing them in his lap.

He must know how serious this is. I haven't heard him use my first name since he caught me at ten years old trying to turn our television off while the Hunger Games aired.

"Well, Daddy-" I begin.

But then I stop short as I realize that I have no idea how to continue. Do I start with Katniss? Do I tell him about mother's pin?

"There's this boy," I say simply, selling everyone and everything short.

He shoots me a pointed look and nods once. This is obviously not what he expected from me. I spend my days sitting with my mother, reading, and playing piano. Alone. A boy is the least of his worries.

"Ah."

I shake my head at him, knowing that he is misreading everything and begin my confession.

"I heard Haymitch yesterday saying that no one believes that Gale is Katniss' cousin," I blurt.

A look of comprehension rolls over his face, like a light being flicked on in a dark room.

"That boy," he says with a dry chuckle, "I should have seen this one coming."

I brush him away. Gale and I certainly are not a real thing. This is for Katniss.

"No, Daddy, Gale and I aren't-" I stammer and think of how to word it. Do I ask for permission or forgiveness?

"I want to help Katniss, Daddy. Gale wants to help Katniss. And I know you want to help Katniss. If Haymitch thinks this is necessary-"

I gulp and cease my rambling, almost certain that he understands my message.

"So I need your permission."

I clip my words and look up at him, hoping he will save me so I do not have to say it out loud. Even though it is a noble cause, even though Gale and I are doing this to help bring Katniss home, saying it out loud just cheapens it. I'm pretending to be in love with someone. It's to help save someone's life, yes, but I am still pretending to be in love nonetheless.

"You need my permission to pretend to date Katniss Everdeen's cousin?" he asks, his voice low and teeming with an emotion I cannot put my finger on. Fear? Curiosity? Disappointment?

His eyes look at me over his glasses as he tries to decipher me. He understands. Oh, thank the Capitol he understands.

"Yes, Daddy," I say, nodding at him, trying to beg with my eyes.

Daddy leans back in his chair and looks out of his window, which gives him view of the whole District, including the Seam. He takes a moment, surveying everything under his command.

"You shouldn't be doing this."

Perhaps he doesn't understand after all.

"But, Daddy-" I begin.

He holds a hand up, stopping my speech without so much as casting a glance in my direction.

"You should stay home. Watch the games with me and stay safe," he says with a tone of finality that exhausts all hope from my heart and all breath from my chest.

For a moment, I fear that my own father will turn me over to the nearest Peacekeeper for treason. I look at him helplessly, whispering the only thing I can think of.

"Katniss is my only friend. Gale needs my help to bring her home."

An uncountable moment passes between us in complete silence. My fingers clench the mud stained hem of my dress for dear life, but my eyes never leave Daddy. He is my father, yes, but he is Mayor first. He allows our citizens to poach and trade and run the Hob right under his nose. He will do anything to keep his people alive. He must want to bring Katniss back as much as I do. A real Victor in District Twelve again. Katniss could do it. She only needs a little help.

I resolve to go behind his back and do it anyway if he says no.

"You know, your mother and I began dating after her sister's games. And your mother turned out the best thing to ever happen to me."

This comment surprises me. I have never seen Daddy and mother spend more than five minutes together, much less show each other affection. I always attribute this to my mother's near constant bed ridden state. But my lips tug upward as he continues to stare outward from his window.

"You will start seeing this Gale boy. Tomorrow. When he brings the strawberries, we'll put on a show for our visitors," he says.

Another thing that surprises me. Not only does he give me permission, but he encourages this escapade. I feel my smile grow as I stand. One thing I learn as a politician's daughter: one you receive the answer you want, you stop the conversation.

"Thank you, Daddy," I say, trying to convey in those few words how much it means to me.

But as my hand wraps around the cool door handle, I freeze when he speaks again.

"And Madge?"

When I turn around, he still gazes out at District Twelve through his window. The greenest of trees splash themselves against the bluest of skies as the steel stacks of the mines blow grey coal dust through the air. This is home. And my father stares out as though it can give him the secrets of the universe.

"Yes, sir?" I ask, hoping to snap him out of his reverie.

My words do not shake him. His eyes are just as glazed over as they were the moment before.

"Be careful," he says before taking in a deep breath, "Be very careful."

I say nothing; I just turn the brass knob and leave his office. I get the feeling that there is some deeper meaning behind his words, but I cannot for the life of me understand what they are.

The night is young still, so I find my mother's door toward the end of the well-lit corridor and pop it open so just my body can fit through. Our guests are not allowed to see her. Daddy's rule.

Ever since I can remember, she and Daddy have slept in separate rooms. Her room is the room of an invalid, and it's sterility makes me stiffen as soon as the door swings shut behind me. The windows are closed, in spite of how stuffy our house gets this time of year, and the stillness in the air locks in the smell of lilac perfume and morphling, the only two smells I ever associate with my mother.

A small television set sits in a table in the corner of her room, and it is on, its muffled sound filling the still room. My mother is a glutton for punishment. The more she watches the games, the less she wants to live. But if the games are on, she cannot ignore them. She is drawn to them, as though if she watches them for long enough, eventually Aunt Maysilee might come out a victor. The Games are killing my mother and she has never even been threatened by them.

My eyes finally swing toward the woman lying in the bed. I breathe out a pitiful sigh. The only mother I will ever have is sprawled out there, fitfully fighting the mountain of thick, white blankets covering her as though they are some sort of enemy, and I see the fading afternoon light reflect off of the tear tracks on her cheeks. Her eyes are closed and she mumbles, but I understand none of what she says. Her last dose of morphling must be wearing off, I think.

My gaze sweeps to the collection of small glass vials at her bedside table, but I push the idea from my mind before it can become a reality. Disposing of the bottles will destroy my mother, and giving her another dose will keep her from reality- from me, if I'm thinking selfishly- for a few more hours. Either way, I lose. Unable to look at the struggling woman any longer, I turn on my heel and- careful to shut the door behind me- leave my mother's bedroom.

* * *

When I wake the next morning, sunlight pours onto my face, peeking through my eyelids. I sigh in relief, glad to know that hopefully the mud in the streets is dried up in the heat of the sun. But then nerves flutter around in my stomach when I remember today's business: Mine and Gale's first official day as an imaginary couple. I set to work, throwing my white quilt off and jumping from the bed.

Over the next hour, I take painstaking care of my body. If the Capitol wants a show, if they want to see the Mayor's daughter, then that is what they will get.

I begin with a shower, using the sweetest smelling salts and soaps in our wash cupboard to clean my body from my hair to my toes. Then, I scrub the dirt from under my fingernails using a coarse brush. Ladies do not have dirty hands, I remember the Capitol women saying. Then, I slip into my robe and sit before the mirror, brushing out my wet, blonde hair. Twisting my tresses back, I use pins to sweep them up and out of my face.

As I look in the mirror, I allow myself one brief selfish moment to resent my mother wasting her life away in her bedroom with needles in her arm. I imagine that any other girl would have her mother get her ready for her first date.

I laugh and scold myself mentally when I realize that this is not a date. This is helping Katniss. And my mother's condition is not her fault. Thinking no more of dates and mothers, I slip into a light blue dress and my favorite pair of shoes. Then comes my simple brass chain. It once held a pin, but now my best friend holds that.

Today is the first day of the Games, and I will be watching with Gale and his family. School is cancelled, as is tradition for the Bloodbath. I tremble a bit at the thought of meeting his mother, but the feeling dissolves as I turn my focus to meticulously applying makeup. It is not much make up, and I am not practiced at putting it on. A Capitol primping team member taught me how to apply it two years ago, instructing Daddy that I "simply must have make-up" if I would ever make anything of myself. Daddy placed the order to appease the woman, but today is the first time the plastic seals are ever broken.

When I step back in the mirror, I take myself by surprise. My clean hair shines in the sunlight bleeding through the windows, the rays bouncing gloriously. My eyes look bright and even bigger from the black liner. My cheeks are filled with color and my lips are the color of the strawberries Gale is supposed to deliver this morning. I swallow, and check that the pins in my hair are secure before turning from my own reflection. I pass my mother's room without a second glance and head down the stairs, ready to spend some time getting focus in the parlor.

Unfortunately, I do not get the peaceful and quiet parlor I hoped for. The members of the capitol scurry about like bees in a hive, prattling on in their ridiculous accents. After picking up a sweet bun- courtesy of The Mellark bakery-from the kitchen counter, I find my place on my favorite chair and curl up in it. It faces the road Gale will take to our back porch. I check the clock on the wall above the mantle. Fifteen minutes until his arrival. My primping took longer than I anticipated, then. I huff to myself and nibble absent-mindedly on breakfast. Over the din of the Capitol teams rushing this way and that, I hear the resounding of the clock, ticking and ticking back and forth. Every few minutes, my chair makes its way closer to the window. By the time the clocks chimes noon, the large, blue-backed seat is edged all the way to the window sill, and my nose is mere inches away from the glass.

"Do you have make-up on?"

It takes a moment before I realize that the thick Capitol accent is speaking to me. I turn to see a man with white and red striped hair glowering down at me.

"Yes," I say simply, my wide eyes struggling to find an appropriate place to look at him.

His eyes have been died blue, and his suit is made of some sharply tailored creme material that I can't place. It must be the height of fashion in the Capitol, but I know nothing about that.

"You should let me do some touch-ups. You drastically under did it."

I am not offended. If he thinks I under did it, then I have just enough on. I don't want to end up going on my date with Gale looking like Effie Trinket.

"No, thank you, Karma," I say, managing a small smile.

He shrugs and tromps off to his next task. My eyes flick to the clock and then back to my window. Gale is late.

"Who are you waiting for, pigeon?"

My father comes up behind me, kissing me on the back of the head. I tense for the briefest moment; I am unused to physical contact. But I recover with a 100 volt smile, knowing that we have to convince our visitors of this little scene.

"Gale, Daddy," I smile, looking up at him as though he knows that.

He purses his lips and furrows his brow, feigning consideration.

"Gale Hawthorne? Katniss Everdeen's cousin?" he asks, as though he is confirming the identity of my suitor.

The movement in the room stops. The flurry of activity halts around me as though someone pulled the power on a conveyor belt. The decorating and primping teams cease their argument about where the portrait of President Snow will get the best light. The interview team stops applying their seventh layer of camera makeup. The security detail ends their meeting, looking up from their maps laid out over my closed piano. The cleaning crew presses the 'off' button on the dusting drones. The room is silent for the first time since before the Reaping.

"Yes, Daddy. You know that," I say, with false admonishment. We play the part of the innocent daughter and the protective father incredibly well.

Then, the room slowly moves back into action again, but the air retains its tense, predatory tone. They are listening, and though they try to keep us from noticing, we now know that we have their attention.

"We're going for a walk. Is that alright?" I ask, my voice tentative and my eyes wide.

My father nods at me once, giving it some thought.

"Seems harmless enough. But be on time for the meeting in the Town Square today."

Such a tame way of saying "Be on time for watching the Bloodbath and the almost certain death of your only friend."

I nod at him with a smile.

"Of course, Daddy."

He smiles at me, his eyes glistening. He knows that we have them right where we want them. Then, a knock sounds on the front door, and my heart stops.

* * *

**And there it is! Chapter three! I know there is little Gale, but don't worry, he is all over the next few chapters. I have to thank my Beta, Ooyeteri, my Zen master who took this chapter and made it what it is.**

**Thank you so much to all of my reviewers! Please drop me a review with your comments and critiques! Favorite parts? Lines? Any insight or ideas about what comes next? Let me know! **


	4. Chapter 4

Gale never comes through the front door. I expected him around the back in the kitchen and to have to make a grand exit around the Capitol team. Daddy is the first to recover from the momentary shock; he strides to the door and answers with a smile.

"Gale! Come in!"

Gale steps through the door. I almost laugh at how out of place he looks. I can tell he washed his face and tried his best to look at least presentable, but a thin layer of coal dust veils him and he dwarfs the room with his size. He looks as out of place in my house as I looked last night outside of his house in the Seam. If he, or my father, notices my amusement, neither mentions it.

"Good afternoon, Mayor Undersee," He says, shaking my father's hand respectfully.

I am taken aback. This is new territory for Gale. Respect for authority? Unheard of.

"So, I hear you're taking my Madge for a walk around the District."

Gale's eyes flick between pair of us in confusion for the briefest moment. This is not the plan we discussed last night, but our audience is expecting it now. I give him an infinitesimal nod, smiling perhaps a bit too widely and begging with my eyes for him to understand.

"If you'll allow it, Mayor," He says, his voice painting a confident and proud young man.

I am surprised by how well Gale plays the role. For a moment, even I believe that he is the respectful boyfriend, weary of his girlfriend's father. A genuine smile slips on my face as I look up at him. Daddy laughs and claps him on the back. Gale plays along, but I catch his eyes flicker toward the reporters for the slightest moment.

"Just bring her home safe, Gale," he says instead of answering, "You know the rules," he adds admonishingly, ushering us out of the door.

I smile, knowing that neither of us know the 'rules,' but neither of us are inclined to break any relationship boundaries, at least.

"Have a good time!" I hear daddy shout as Gale leads me down the drive.

We walk down the drive away from house. My eyes flick behind me.

"Don't look. Don't look," I mumble, waiting until we are quiet a few paces away from the house before continuing.

"Now, look back to your left," I mutter through a clenched-tooth smile.

I see Gale subtly turn his head back to the house before I allow myself to explode in laughter. A rainbow of people are jockeying for position by the window, falling all over themselves and jumping over each other as they try to get a better view of the young lovers from District 12 leaving the house. Seeing the pretentious team from the Capitol make fools of themselves over a fake relationship is worth the entire facade. Gale is not nearly as amused as I am.

"Multimillion dollar communications system at their disposal and all they want to do is see the Mayor's daughter walk away with the Girl on Fire's cousin," he mutters under his breath, shaking his head in disgust.

I follow Gale blindly, not asking where we are going or what we are doing. For a while, all I hear is the crunch of gravel beneath our feet and the breeze whistling through the street. The air is still, but the tension hums tangibly between us after the intrusion of our audience. I fold my hands in front of me, pursing my lips, as I struggle to find something to say. Finally and mercifully, Gale breaks the silence.

"So, you talked to your father."

That much is obvious, but Gale must be trying to make conversation. I nod and kick up a loose rock.

"He's alright with it as long as he is involved. He can keep us safe," I say, watching the pebble skip ahead of us along the street.

Gale scoffs and I imagine what he's thinking: Your father won't protect me if the chips are down. And the saddest thing is that I know he is right. I bite the inside of my cheek and look up at him, ready to change the subject.

"You were late. Are you alright?" I ask, looking up at him, my arms lock behind my back to keep them from swinging and hitting him accidentally.

"Weren't worried about me, were you?" his voice is flat and toneless. He must not be expecting much.

I smirk and cock my head, staring down at the road ahead of us. I could answer dishonestly. But when I think of the time I spent agonizing over the clock and his tardiness, I cannot help but tell the truth.

"A bit," I quip, my voice strong.

I can feel his stare on the side of my face. Heat rises to my cheeks. After a long moment of silence, he finally decides to ignore my candid response and answer my original question.

"Actually, you made an impression on my sister yesterday. It took me ten minutes to get her to let go of my leg. She wanted to come visit with me."

I scoff and cross my arms across my chest. I saw Posy for no more than five minutes. Surely, there is not much of an impression to be made in that kind of time.

"I don't believe that."

He shakes his head and shoves his hands in his pockets.

"It's true. She made me promise that you would come see her today. She doesn't get a lot of attention with the siblings at school and Ma at work. So, you doting on her is like Heaven. It'll only get worse when I go to the mines-" Gale breaks off suddenly.

An uncomfortable moment passes between us as he realizes just how much he is revealing. Restless, my hands go up and pat my hair back in place behind my ears.

"At least someone in your family likes me," I tease, trying to lighten the mood.

Gale makes a noise, but I can't tell if it is a laugh or a grunt of a disapproval. I let it go. We walk in silence for a while, side by side, refusing to get close enough to even touch, until we reach a fence.

I read the sign, and for what seems like the hundredth time in two days, my stomach sinks. When he begins walking through the overgrown weeds toward the fence, his arm outstretched to touch it, my world stops. The sign clearly promises an electric current; the shock will kill him. My heart rate speeds and the noise pounds in my ears like a pumped up metronome.

"Gale!" I shout, lunging toward him.

I cross the small space between us, managing to grab the back hem of his shirt for dear life. With all of my might, I pull on it, willing for him to stop. When he does, however, I trip over my own two feet and land in a heap in the dense brush. My head shoots up and I see his hand wrapped around the electrical wire harmlessly. Gale looks back at me with an unreadable expression, though his lips curl up in a smile. My hands still clenching his shirt, I look up at him with wide eyes, my unbridled fear now obvious.

"It's not on?" I ask, my voice so small that I am shocked that he hears it. The surprise of the broken fence combined with Gale's not-so-close brush with death leave me breathless.

He gives me a sharp look at my question, though there is no real threat behind it. I am shaking with adrenaline and the fear is barely just subsiding from behind my eyes.

"Obviously not," he says, a smirk playing on his lips.

I struggle to stand on my own two feet once more, using him for support. My hands, however, find a new vice grip around his loose shirt cuff like a security blanket.

"C'mon," he says, motioning with his head as he lifts up the dead electrical wire with his free arm as though it is nothing.

I feel my eyes widen. Surely he cannot expect me-

"You spring this walk on me. I get to pick where we go," He explains, his eyes piercing mine.

I gulp. This is dangerous. Not to mention illegal. An offense worthy of lashings, if not death. Gale seems to read my mind. He looks down at my hand, the knuckles of which are going white with the pressure I am holding the fabric of his shirt.

"I'll keep you safe," He breathes, trying to catch my gaze, though I keep my eyes trained on the ground.

But what does safe really mean? I think to myself. Gale does not have the power to protect me from anything or anyone.

"Besides," He says, "they won't mess with the Mayor's daughter," his voiceconfident and cool in this information.

He has a point there. After a moment's consideration, I gulp in a breath of air for courage. Then, finger by finger, I release my grip on his arm. I crawl through the hole Gale makes in the fence, carefully tucking my skirt behind my knees so as not to risk any northern exposure.

"Lovely," He mumbles, rolling his eyes at me and my attempt at modesty.

I shoot him a withering look. He follows me through the fence and I fight the urge to swat him. Infuriating boy. The moment passes as he straightens up.

"I've never been here before," I comment, my eyes frantically struggling to soak in everything around me.

His eyebrows shoot skyward.

"No kidding," He says with mock surprise.

I do swat his shoulder this time. It's not hard, but I think it takes him off guard.

"Look at you, Madge Undersee. Breaking the law. Running around in the woods with a boy from the Seam. Hitting him. This is a big day for you."

He chuckles and I can hear the traces of irony in his tone. I smile at the jibe, knowing that it may be as nice as he ever gets. He nudges me forward.

"Come on. We'll get caught if we stay too close to the fence," He orders.

I follow without complaint, the feeling of freedom overriding any and all fear that I might feel at the threat of being caught.

The thrill of breaking the rules rushes through me and energizes me all the way to my toes. I want to run. I want to scale a tree. I want to dive into the nearest creek and swim until I can no longer feel my arms. I itch with this new feeling of freedom. No wonder this is Katniss' favorite place.

The first thing I notice? The air. It is so clean out here, I marvel as I take in a deep breath. For the first time in my life, I do not smell a hint of coal fumes. The only scent I pick up comes from the greenery all around me. I giggle as a frog leaps across our path, hopping away into the dense brush.

"This is really exciting for you, isn't it?" Gale asks, sizing me up as I scan forest floor. He sounds genuinely surprised.

I smile and nod as I walk across his path and bend down to smell some pink bud, just beginning to bloom to the warmth of the sun. I think back to the pink ribbon that Posy so admired the evening before. The pink of the ribbon pales in comparison to the explosion of color in this one flower. I gaze at it as though it possesses the answers of the world.

"I've read about it in books, but I never thought I'd get to see the real forest," I say, deciding not to pluck the young flower from its stem.

I see Gale tilt his head at me from the corner of my eye.

"You've read books about the woods?" he asks as I stand and step away from the flower bush.

Gale and I fall into step alongside one another. With a smile, I shrug at him and passively run my hand over the rough wood of a tree taller than the Justice Building.

"A few," I begin, "after I found out that your strawberry business is illegal."

My hand tingles after leaving the textured bark, so I shake it out. The feeling is not unpleasant, just unfamiliar. I look forward to the day that I can touch the trunk of a tree and enjoy each ridge and valley of its complex pattern.

"You were going to stop us?" He asks, his eyes scanning the trees and looking anywhere but me.

A magnificent fire gold and coal black winged butterfly crosses my vision, and I am so distracted by it that I take a moment before answering. I am sure that Gale wants an answer to his question quickly, but I am enraptured by its freedom and beauty. It is not until it completely disappears from our part of the forest that I continue.

"No," I say shortly.

My real answer is that I wanted to read because I wanted to join them. And reading is as close to a real adventure as I ever get. But I know Gale will resent that (the forest, after all, is not an adventure, but a job for him), so I merely continue my exploration.

I feel the sunlight radiate through the trees, pure and warming, and in that moment, I want nothing more than to lay down in the brush and soak it in. How is it that the sunlight inside the fence feels so different than outside it? What does free growing grass feel like compared to the grass grown inside the fence? Are the petals of the purple flowers peeking from behind the thicket as soft as they look? I want to answer all of these questions for myself. Gale grabs my wrist, though, and smirks at me.

"Keep up," he says, the words tumbling out with a chuckle at my childlike excitement.

I walk at his side, struggling to follow at his pace on the rough terrain, listening as he points out all the features of the woods to me.

"And over there's the tree that I fell out of when I was thirteen and almost broke my should-Watch out! Snare!"

He grabs my upper arm and wrenches me into his chest. We are so close that I can feel his heartbeat contrast against mine and I can hear his breath against the top of my head. A blush sneaks across my face, so I look down. Two feet over, I notice a small trap set there. It wouldn't have hurt, I imagine, but it might have been damn inconvenient.

"Thanks," I manage to say as I look up at him.

He nods and sets me to right again before moving on quickly. Gale's eyes never focus on one spot, they constantly scan, moving back and forth. Silence falls between us once more, and I try to follow his gaze as he looks about, trying to see what he sees. When he sees bushes rustle, does he see a threat or a possible dinner? When he sees the berries, does he see poison or dessert? Maybe I will never know.

Finally, when we are a ways into the woods and civilization seems a figment of my imagination, Gale lets us stop. His eyes are focused on a bird up in a tree, feathering a nest in the dizzying sunshine streaming between the branches. I see everything spectacular about it, from its bright feathers to its cheerful song, but I cannot see what Gale finds so fascinating. There must be hundreds of birds just like it in this part of the woods, and surely Gale sees them often. I turn to ask him, but am taken back by what I find.

"Gale?" I ask.

He puts one finger to his lips, knowing that the noise might scare the bird off. I lower my voice to a whisper.

"Don't look now," I begin, leaning into him so as to get a better view of the mother bird, "But I think you're smiling."

He stiffens and slowly turns to look at me. The smile slips a bit and he assesses me. His brow furrows, and his dark eyes pierce mine. For a long moment, all I can hear is the rustling of leaves and the chirping of the birds. I have no idea what goes through his mind, but I never let my own sincere smile falter. But then the smile returns to Gale's face and the light returns to his eyes.

"So are you."

* * *

**And there it is! The first date! I hope you are enjoying their story! Thank you for all of your lovely reviews and support! Please keep it up! It is never too late to submit reviews! I love to hear any little thought you may have on the chapter! Favorite quotes? Favorite moments? And thoughts about what is coming up in the future? And thanks to my BETA, Ooyeteri, who made this chapter infinitely better!**


	5. Chapter 5

After a few hours of meandering, Gale pulls me back to reality. We barely speak in the confines of the woods; I know this place is sacred to him and I don't want to alienate him by talking. Minute by minute, though, I watch Gale deflate. We are not only wandering closer to the fence. We are wandering closer to the Games. Closer to watching Katniss and Peeta begin their battle.

When we crawl through the wires barring District Twelve and the outside world, I manage to tangle my body in itself and fall flat on my face in the dirt.

"So finishing school didn't teach you how to get through electric fences with grace, Princess?" He snaps, maneuvering his body between the wires easily and offering me a hand.

I cast him a glance, sad that the magic of the woods is gone. Now within the confines of the fence and the Capitol's rule, we are back to where we started. Madge, the Mayor's daughter with the world on a string, and Gale, the Seam boy with the chip on his shoulder.

But I take his hand in spite of his prejudice. I can't exactly blame him. I am given everything and he fights for anything he gets.

When he finally pulls me up and onto to my own two feet once more, I brush the grass from my skirt and begin walking on my own back toward town.

Then a hand grips my own, and I feel a jolt run through me. It is rough and calloused from hours of work. A thin scar runs along the length his palm from where perhaps a bowstring popped back too hard and some nicks paint his fingers where I imagine the blade of a skinning knife skid astray. I look up at Gale, a million questions running through my mind. This contact is new for me, and I think he knows it. He smirks, though his eyes are guarded.

"They'll be expecting this, right?" he asks me, his voice confident in the answer.

I ignore him, but leave my hand in his grip. In spite of everything, it does offer a bit of comfort. I take one long, fleeting glance back over my shoulder toward the fence and the woods beyond. I don't want to leave, but I don't want to mention it and sound like a spoiled child either.

"Don't worry," he assures me with a quick squeeze of my hand, "I'll bring you back."

I shoot him a grateful glance before turning my face back toward the road. Sucking in a deep breath, I brace myself against the rage of motions fluttering in my chest. Gale is clenching my hand as though we are really together, his fingers wrapping around my skin with a warmth that leaves the rest of my body chilled. My best friend is fighting for her life in the Bloodbath. And, on top of that, we are walking toward a crowd of people milling toward the Town Square, who undoubtedly will notice our familiar embrace. There is no appropriate emotional response, so I merely bite my lip and look back up at Gale for answers.

"Just breathe," Gale answers my unspoken questions straightforwardly, his eyes never leaving the crowd before us.

I am unsure if he is instructing me or reassuring himself. As we steadily approach the congregation, I notice that they are all from the Seam. Their drab and tattered clothes match Gale's and starkly contrast mine, so they are easy to spot.

"I didn't expect them so soon-" I begin as I stare them down.

"Don't worry. They won't say anything-" He begins.

But then the crowd is upon us. Several throw greetings Gale's way, but many more are suspiciously silent. I cannot tell if they are silent because of who Gale is walking with or what we are walking toward. Then glances are cast in our direction, whispers pervade the air, and I stare at my feet steadfastly, letting Gale and the sidewalk cracks guide me to the town square.

"You aren't nervous, are you?" he asks, leaning sideways toward me as we fall a few steps behind the rest of our party.

I look up at him and shake my head, placing that politician's daughter smile on my face. I'm sure he is already terrified beneath that shielded look of his; there's no need to let him know that I am equally afraid.

"Not at all," I brush him off, refusing to look in his eyes for fear that they will betray me.

"Then why are you shaking?" he whispers in my ear and squeezes my unblemished hand in his calloused one reassuringly.

I have no response. I merely take comfort in the fact that I will not have to endure this alone. When we reach the square, he leads me to the front row, where the rest of the Hawthorne family is already assembled. While we are still a few feet off, a voice shouts above the dull hum of the crowd.

"Madgy!"

Once again, a head of red hair runs in my direction, this time dodging the bodies of Peacekeepers and citizens alike before flinging herself into my arms. I am barely able to catch Posy, letting go of Gale's warm hand and clinging to her with all of my strength.

"Hi!" she shouts cheerily, completely oblivious to the tension around her.

I smile weakly for Posy, but remember why we are all here in the first place. The Hunger Games. The bloodbath is mere moments away. We are waiting for the for the murdering to begin and I know that we are not to expect too much. Tributes from Twelve never last.

My aunt sure didn't.

I brush thoughts of my aunt Maysilee and her death and its effects on my family under the mental rug. If I let my mind go down that road, there may be no bringing me back from it. Katniss is certainly not my Aunt, I remind myself. But then again, a little voice in the back of my mind shouts, Peeta certainly is no Haymitch.

"There you are, Gale," a voice says, pulling me from my bleak train of thought.

I look up from Posy in time to see Gale dip his head. He allows an older woman to grasp either side of his face and place a kiss on the top of his forehead. I am unsure of how to react to the moment, so I allow myself a smile.

"And who is this?" the woman asks, turning to me.

She wears that knowing and maternal smile, her eyes glittering in the mid-afternoon light as she sweeps her gaze between me and her son. She wears that look that I never see- and never expect to see- my mother wear. That look that says that she knows all the secrets of the universe. That look that only comes from being a mother. Gale's mother, I expect.

"Ma-" he begins, looking away.

Boys are so obvious when they try to fight emotion. It's a bit pathetic looking, really, especially on a boy like Gale. So, I decide to be merciful and rescue him this one time. He'll thank me one day, I think to myself, though I do not really believe it.

"Madge Undersee, m'am. I'm sorry I borrowed Gale today. We went for a walk and-"

She brushes off my excuse and is even able to muster a small smile for me in spite of everything.

"I understand. He needs to get out and clear his head sometimes," She begins, speaking to me before directing the rest toward Gale, "and with Madge Undersee no less?"

She looks back at him, her eyebrow quirked. Gale looks like he wants to bolt again, but the army of Peacekeepers keeps him from doing so. I understand his anguish. Not only is his mother interrogating him about a girl he is not even really involved with, but he also has to watch the girl he really loves begin the fight for her life tonight. I figure Mrs. Hawthorne must know how much he dislikes me, and that is why she questions him about my presence. I shuffle awkwardly, unaware of how to proceed between the two.

"Well," she concedes, knowing that Gale will not answer her in such a public forum, "I think it's nice. And Posy sure has taken a shine to you-"

At this moment, my father decides to call everyone to order.

"Happy Hunger Games," He begins obligatorily, "today, we will be given a live stream from Our Capitol of the first day of competition. May the Odds be Ever in Your Favor!" He says into the microphone, staring out into the silent crowd.

Daddy scurries down from his perch, hating this every bit as much as the rest of us do. Caesar Flickerman's face appears on screen, and I cringe a bit at his blue hair. Posy begins to giggle at it, but I shush her and she quiets.

"Happy, Happy, Happy Hunger Games!" he begins, getting increasingly sincere looking as he stares into the camera. His joy makes me sick.

"The seventy-fourth annual Hunger Games begin today, and I'm sure you are eager, but we are going to take one more look at this year's tributes."

Then, Caesar's face disappears and the montage begins. They begin with the tributes from One, but I tune it out. I will not memorize the names and faces of the dead. Not this year. Not like my mother.

"Peeta Mellark!"

Posy's head swivels toward the screens when she hears Peeta's name called through the loudspeakers. After watching so much mandatory Hunger Games material, she instinctively knows Katniss is next. They play clips from Peeta's interview, and I watch Gale's jaw lock as he mentions his secret love for Katniss. I say nothing, though I feel a pang in my chest for him. When it passes, the moment we all wait for finally arrives.

"Katniss Everdeen!"

They play the clips of her in the chariot and twirling like a little girl in her fire dress. The entire audience of District Twelve watches her with wide, awestruck eyes. I beam up at her as though she can see me. I believe in you, Katniss, I think, willing her to hear me.

I am shaken from my thoughts as her image disappears and is replaced with a clearing surrounded by a heavily wooden area. The Cornucopia. The Bloodbath. The victims appear on their pads. Silence. Dead silence. I look down at the little girl in my arms, whose eyes are glued to the screen.

"Posy!" I whisper, trying not to create a scene, "You wanna play a game?"

The little girl's eyes snap towards me and she nods excitedly.

"Good. Count behind us and see how many grey shirts you can see. I'll count in front of us. Whoever has the most, wins, alright?"

Admittedly, it is not the best thing I've ever had to make up on the spot. But all I want is to distract her, and it seems to work. Posy turns her head and shoots me a quizzical look, but does as I ask. She takes the opportunity to let her stubby fingers play with the ends of my hair that lay over my shoulder. I breathe out a sigh of relief, pleased to know that she may be spared the horror of murder for one more day, at least.

As the countdown begins and a hush rolls through the crowd, my eyes shift toward my dad. Beside him sit two empty chairs, and I realize for the first time that my mother is missing. She isn't at daddy's side, so I imagine her holed in her room, in a morphling coma and blessed that the Mayor's Wife gets the privilege of missing mandatory events. For a brief moment, I am even a bit jealous of her. But I am pulled from my envy when the countdown reaches the crucial point.

"Three-"

My grip on Posy tightens involuntarily. My eyes flick toward Gale.

"Two-"

I see Peeta shoot a look toward Katniss. My lungs suck in a gulp of tense air.

"One-"

My heart leaps from my chest as I watch Katniss and Peeta split, Katniss diving toward the Cornucopia and Peeta bolting for the thicket. I am afraid that I will pass out, my breathing is so shallow and my chest is almost bouncing with the force of my heart rate. I look up to see Katniss reach out for a backpack just as another Tribute does the same.

Without thought, I unlatch one of my arms from Posy and grab Gale's hand. I clench my fingers through his and give him a violent squeeze. We are both shaking now. I spare him a glance. His jaw locks and his eyes narrow at the screen. She's my friend, too, Gale, I want to say, but there is only silence.

Silence. Silence like a grave pervades the entire district.

I bury my head into Posy's mane of hair, closing my eyes. I have seen the footage of my aunt's death more times that I care to count. I do not need to see my best friend grapple with death as well. A collective gasp comes up from the crowd, though, and my eyes snap toward the video monitor.

Katniss survives the Bloodbath with a backpack. And then, without even thinking, I say,

"Katniss is coming home."

* * *

**Here we are! The beginning of The Games and your first glimpse of Hazelle! I am so grateful for all of the reviews, alerts, and favorites! Thank you so much! I would love to hear your thoughts and insights! Favorite lines? Thoughts about what is to come? **

**Let me know! And I am sending love to Ooyeteri, my lovely Beta who knows the secrets of the universe!**


	6. Chapter 6

Peeta joins the Careers just before the crowd is dismissed. Eleven bodies lie lifeless on the arena floor. I fight off the urge to release the contents of my meager breakfast as the adrenaline in me subsides. Instead, I concentrate on taking deep and full breaths to stop the world spinning around me. The dizzy spell passes and Posy takes in a deep, shaky breath.

"Can I sit up now, Madge?" She asks against my shoulder.

Around us, the crowd is quickly thinning. Blobs of gray, black and brown fabric pass the corners of my sight line, and I feel Gale slowly extricate his hand from mine.

"Sure, Posy," I say.

Her head pops up with a smile. The look on her face tells me that she is unable to fathom the reason that everyone looks utterly ill. I am glad for it.

"Thirty-six grey shirts, Madge. How many did you count?"

"Uh-" I make up a number to appease her, "Twenty."

Posy stares at me for a long moment. Her eyebrows furrow, and I am surprised at her sudden perceptiveness.

"Are you okay, Madgy?" She asks.

I say nothing, just give her a squeeze and a nod before letting her down from her perch in my arms. As soon as her feet are on the ground, I take in a shaking breath and she clasps my hand.

"If you're getting sick, you should let Gale hold your hand," she says quickly, as though it is the most simple of solutions.

I look down at her in confusion, but then follow her gaze to her eldest brother. Gale is locked in an intense conversation with his mother a feet away, so I allow her this moment.

"Why is that?" I ask, keeping an eye on Posy and turning from Gale and his mother's private talk.

Slowly, I feel that I am coming back into my own skin once more after the terror of the Games. Posy's grin brings me back to myself. The fear is ebbing away. She shrugs as she thinks about my question.

"When I was sick, Gale held my hand and I felt better."

"Ah," I begin with a grin, "I see."

Of course Posy would think Gale holding my hand would solve my problems. If only it would. As she rambles on about her family's reaction to her illness, I watch Gale and Mrs. Hawthorne return from their conversation, noticing Gale's eyes flit from place to place anxiously. Either he expects a bird to pop out from no where so he can shoot it or he is looking for someone. I opt for the second, more likely, option. I think I know who he seeks.

"They're over there with my father," I mutter to him as Mrs. Hawthorne rallies her gaggle of children to begin their walk toward the Seam.

Gale's eyes finally reach his chosen target. Primrose and Mrs. Everdeen are standing by the platform, where my father is trying to offer what looks like encouragement. I notice that the tension in Gale's body visibly slackens a bit, and he looks back toward his mother.

"I'll catch up," He declares.

There is no emotion, no look of thanks toward me, nothing. He is shell-shocked, though he tries his best to hide it with a tough exterior. He runs back toward the Everdeens, and when they begin to converse, I turn back toward Mrs. Hawthorne, who is walking in the opposite direction as her son.

"Shouldn't we wait for him?" I ask.

Rory shakes his head and looks up at his mother as though I just asked the most ridiculous question he has ever heard.

"Why? He knows the way home," he retorts, looking to his mother though I am sure this response is more for my benefit than hers.

Mrs. Hawthorne gives her middle son a flick on the ear, her mild features pointing down at him disapprovingly.

"Don't be cheeky," she chides. Something in her tone tells me that this is a near daily conversation for them.

I smile as Rory moans and holds a hand to the offended ear. Mrs. Hawthorne falls into step with me and looks between Posy and I.

"Would you like to come to dinner, Ms. Undersee?" Mrs. Hawthorne asks.

I wonder for a brief moment if the question is odd for her to say, but the wonder is quickly replaced with shock. She is feeding five on two small incomes. Surely, she cannot afford to add me to that dinner table. And, admittedly, I am itching to get home and keep watch over Katniss.

"Oh, I couldn't-" I begin.

I know that my father will not be expecting me, not that he will notice my absence with the Capitol team to entertain. She brushes my excuse off, scoffing. Rory and Vick are a few steps in front of us, playing a rough looking game of tag and Posy finds the trim on my blue shoes remarkably interesting, so no one pays attention to us.

"If you don't have plans, I'd like to get to know Gale's girl better," She says, her tone warm.

A blush creeps across my cheeks, but not from the reference to mine and Gale's relationship. She doesn't know that we are pretending. She thinks this is real. Shame rises up in my throat, and I struggle to fight it down. Posy comes to my rescue.

"Madge is coming to my house?" She asks, her eyes wide as she looks up at her mother.

The older woman cocks an eyebrow in her direction.

"Only if you don't scare her off," She says, wagging her finger in her daughter's direction with sarcastic flair.

The tenderness is her voice echoes in each and every syllable she utters. Through the jibes and the commands, love and sympathy for her children bubbles under every syllable. Posy nods and crosses her heart- or, where her heart would be if it were on the right side of her chest- and nods vehemently.

"Oh, I promise!"

A voice cuts through my laughter at her vow.

"What are we promising?" Gale's taut voice asks, coming up behind us.

Mrs. Hawthorne steps aside, letting him stand between us.

"Madge is coming to supper tonight!" Posy says, throwing her arms skyward in celebration. She beams up at her brother, looking for some kind of approval from him. She finds none in his hard eyes.

"And I guess this was Madge's idea?" He asks, emphasizing my name with a bitter sharpness.

I wonder for a second where the hostility is from, but then I realize that I already know. The Games. He's afraid. And more than that, I think Gale is being reminded of something. Life is unfair. The system is unfair. And no matter what, I will always be another symbol of just how unfair it is.

"No," Mrs. Hawthorne clips, "It was mine."

She sighs as we enter the Seam. Posy looks between us all in confusion. I look at Gale, hoping for him to spare me a glance, just to remind me that he is the same man I saw today in the woods. But Gale looks anywhere but me, and I remain unsure.

"Of course it was your idea," Gale mumbles under his breath sarcastically, just loud enough for me to hear.

I miss the Gale of the forest, I think with an ache in my chest that hits me with such force that I am taken aback.

"Won't Daddy be missing you?" Gale snaps, his boots clambering against the torn up ground.

Posy grips my hand tighter as her younger two brothers try to edge in closer to hear our words.

"He was under the impression that I was safe with you, Gale," I say, emphasizing his name, "And that I was welcome."

Gale stiffens, his whole body on edge as our hands brush. He shoves his hands in his pockets angrily.

"Why don't you ask me next time if you're welcome, not my mother?" He asks, his voice low and dangerous.

I try it control my emotions as best as I can, and speak before his mother gets the chance.

"Why don't we just forget about the whole thing, then?" I mutter through clenched teeth, my voice clipped and communicating a million things I cannot say aloud.

This is the first time I really challenge him, and I hold my breath for his response. For a moment, I swear that I see Mrs. Hawthorne smile at me.

"But then I'd miss your lovely company," he bites back with cutting sarcasm.

That stings like someone snapping a rubber band at my chest. His mother scowls. His brothers snicker. He effectively silences me. After a long moment spent in tense silence, the Hawthorne home appears in view. It is indistinguishable from the others, but I watch Rory and Vick jump the steps and run in through the screen door on the porch.

"You need help, Ma?" Gale asks as his mother crosses to the house after her younger two sons.

My eyebrows knit in confusion. Is she ill? Surely she can make it up four steps to the porch and through the door to her house.

"I'm fine, son," she snaps admonishingly, wagging a few fingers in his direction as a brush-off.

Gale backs away and she crosses to the house. I feel a tug on the hem of my dress. I turn around and see Posy standing there, staring up at me. I crouch down to be at her eye level, but stay off of my knees to spare this dress the stains.

"You're not leaving, right?" Posy asks, her eyes imploring me.

I shake my head, and I can feel a few pieces of hair coming loose from their pins after the adventures of today.

"Not yet, Posy," I say.

She nods approvingly, looking up at her brother. I rise to my feet.

"Don't scare her off," she says, echoing her mother's words from earlier in the afternoon with a huff before turning and running back to the house. I go to follow her, spinning away from Gale and moving toward the front step just as the door slams behind Posy.

"Don't step on that one," Gale says flatly, with little trace of worry or desperation.

I turn. Gale stands there, his arms folded in front of his chest. His face betrays nothing to me except impatience.

"It's broken," he explains.

I shoot him a confused look. He laughs at me derisively and points.

"The stairs," he says as though he is speaking to a small child, "They've been rotted for months. You have to jump it or it'll collapse completely underneath you."

I don't respond to his comment about the stairs. What are the stairs to me, really? I stand there for a long moment, arms folded over my chest, letting the clipped words and poor attitudes of the last few minutes roll over my mind.

"I don't want to fight, so say the word and I'll go home," I say with a tone of finality.

His dark eyes shoot up toward me.

"You wanna go home?"

I answer before thinking. Now that I'm here, I cannot bear the thought of watching the Games with my mother or the team from the Capitol. In essence, if I go home, I will be alone. I cannot be alone. Not tonight.

"No."

Gale shrugs.

"Then drop it."

I open my mouth to counter him.

"But do you want me to leave, Gale?"

A very deep, dark, selfish part of me wants him to admit that he wants me around tonight.

"Drop it," is the only reply I get. He stares me down, his eyes dark and indecipherable as he holds a hand out to halt me.

When my face falls, he rolls his eyes and a ghost of a smile flickers across his lips.

"C'mere," He says.

He holds his arm before his body as though he is carrying an invisible hay bale. I look at him as though he has suddenly sprouted another head. I take a step away rather than closer.

"It's a wide jump over four steps. I can't bring you back to the Mayor with a broken leg or he'll never let you come back," He explains, exasperatedly.

Then I slowly begin to realize what he wants me to do. He wants to lift me over the stairs. It is mortifying, but after a moment of deliberation, I concede and move toward him. Dropping his arms, Gale also takes a few steps closer in and begins instructing me.

"Throw your arm around my shoulder," He begins.

I have to stand on my tiptoes to reach, but eventually I am able to do as he says. I underestimate how close we will be and suck in a quiet gasp of shock as our noses barely miss each other. His left hand snakes its way behind my back, resting at my waist, and his right hand hangs free.

"Now jump."

I look from his right hand to his dark eyes in shock.

"You'll drop me!" I accuse.

He laughs at me, and for the briefest of moments, I see a flash in his eyes. He is once more the boy in the woods. The thought is more comforting than I care to admit.

"Are you afraid of everything?" He asks.

I shake my head and look at his arms instead of his eyes. His sleeve cuff is still wrinkled from where I gripped it this afternoon. I smile to hide my embarrassment.

"I just don't know if I trust you yet," I say before I can think better of it.

My expectation is this: He rips out of my grasp and storms up to the house, rescinding my invitation to dinner. My reality?

He smiles at me. It is the smile I saw in the woods when he thought no one could see. Something warm and unfamiliar simmers in me as I stare into his dark eyes.

"I won't drop you, Madge. Promise."

I believe him. So I jump.

* * *

**So, here we are! Chapter six! I hope you all enjoyed it! Favorite quotes? Scenes? Lines? Are you curious about anything?Reviewers usually get a little insight into what is coming up! I can't wait to see what you all have to say! As always, thank you to my incredible beta, Ooyeteri, who made this a million times better!**


	7. Chapter 7

The house is spotless. Small, but spotless. That is the first thing I notice when Gale drops me inside of the doorway. His touch is electrifying and he stands suffocatingly close, but I bite down a smile and survey this new world around me.

Everything is wooden, save for one stuffed chair in front of the television set, and everything is worn. The floors creak from being tread upon, the colored wooden chairs are chipped and cracked from use; the paint on the walls is faded. But there is not a speck of dust in sight, not a spot of mud to be found. It smells warm, like a family home would, and the feeling dances across my very skin. Sounds boom around me as the family bursts from the door and scatters. Posy grabs my hand and drags me toward the kitchen, which is open to the living area. Vick bickers with Gale about who gets which chair tonight, and Rory complains as his mother hands him plates to set the small table.

They don't even pull a chair up for me. There are six chairs there, as though they were expecting me. Or as though they never removed the one for their father; as though they half expected him to walk in one day, covered in coal dust, and sit down for dinner. I fall down in the chair that Posy pulls me toward, the wooden chair wedged between her little body and Gale's imposing one.

Mrs. Hawthorne left a stew simmering while we watched the bloodbath, and the smell fills the room as she carries the bowl over to us. Begrudgingly, Rory hands out bowls and the silverware-which glints menacingly in the dim light like Cato's knife-as my ears struggle to take in both the table chatter and the sounds coming from the television.

The Capitol provided television set rustles in the background, and I try to tune into it as best I can as Mrs. Hawthorne ladles out the stew the barely fills half of the pot. I can see the meat, probably something Gale caught, brewed with wild vegetables, and the unfamiliar scent makes my stomach bubble. My mind races with the thought that the Capitol can provide television sets for its citizens, but a widowed woman with four children must resort to illegal means to feed them.

It is wrong.

Gale catches my gaze out of the corner of his eye as he brings a bite of stew to his mouth. I am not good at reading him yet, but he seems to be asking me to come back to reality. With a shake of my head, as though the jolt will clear my vision of the injustice before me, a small smile comes to my lips and I take a large gulp from my cup of water. My eyes scan the collection of people around me, from Mrs. Hawthorne's-whose hands are stained and wrinkled from being soaked in wash water all day- to Rory, who never seems to come up for air, to Vick, who carefully watches his oldest brother and mimics his actions with precision, to Posy, who enjoys her dinner, completely oblivious to everything except what is right before her.

Gale sits on my left, his gaze shifting in my direction every few seconds as he eats. His gaze is calculating, interested, taking in every action as if he is waiting for an excuse to be offended.

"So, Madge, what do you do?" Mrs. Hawthorne asks, kindly beginning conversation to break the stream of noise from the flickering television.

I look up from the cracked and stained wooden table, confused by the question. It is astounding to me that she is so supportive. She works, she takes care of her family, and yet she lets me in, welcomes me, without a single thought. She is the support system here, the mother. Whereas in my home, I am the support system.

"Do?" I ask, my hands clenching my dented cup, letting the water slosh around.

The entire family now stares plainly at me. Mrs. Hawthorne tries to help me understand the odd question.

"Well, Gale traps, Katniss hunts-"

I imagine Gale's chagrin at the distinction, but refuse to turn and see it for myself. I understand his annoyance at her choice of words. Gale and Katniss, they do things that help their families, and I, privileged as I am, do nothing of the sort.

"What do you do, Madge?" she asks, her voice quiet and betraying none of the bitterness that emanates off of Gale.

Her warm smile and encouraging eyes take the edge out of the otherwise loaded question. Gale answers for me.

"She plays piano," Gale cuts in, his eyebrows shooting toward his hairline and every word dripping with sarcastic praise.

Mrs. Hawthorne gives her eldest son a look, unamused that he is interrupting our conversation.

"I'm sure Madge can answer for herself," She snaps.

The children around us snicker. I laugh, but stifle it with my hand when Gale pins a glare on me.

"I do play piano," I say, smiling between Gale and his mother, "And I teach reading sometimes."

I smirk to myself before continuing.

"Lately, though, I've been taking care of this one," I say, nudging Gale.

I glance up at him and beam; he stares at me with a bemused look. All first steps in our 'relationship' are taken by him. This is new. Besides that, the move is flirtatious and forward; I almost regret it until I see the look on Mrs. Hawthorne's face. She seems pleased, almost proud. I vaguely wonder how many girls Gale has brought home to his family. Not many, I think, if she is reacting this way. Vick and Rory gag at each other.

"And taking care of me!" Posy says, smiling up at me and thankfully turning all of the attention off of Gale and I for the briefest of moments, giving me a chance to breathe.

She hops into my lap and looks across the table to her mother. Something shifts in Mrs. Hawthorne's eyes at that moment, as Gale edges ever closer to me in the already tight space and as Posy cuddles herself deeper into my chest. I don't know what Mrs. Hawthorne thinks, but in that moment, we must look like a family of our own. Her eyes are distant, contemplative, and even content, as though she might take the mental image and make it into a photograph that she can keep forever. After a moment, she snaps out of it to the sound of Rory and Vick using their cutlery as musical instruments.

"Finished, boys?" Mrs. Hawthorne finally asks, rising to her weary feet.

I join her, setting Posy down on the ground. My chair claws noisily against the worn wooden floor.

"Let me help-" I say, jumping at the chance of being useful.

"Oh, you don't—" she begins.

I cut her off with a wave, grabbing up Posy and Gale's plates in one swoop of my arms. I can feel Gale's approval. They gave me dinner, so I am paying them back by doing the dishes. I am sure that is how he sees it, and I will let him think it.

After all, there is a nasty rumor circulating that the Mayor's daughter does nothing and is infected with indolence and laziness like her mother. It's a useful rumor. People may hate me, but it keeps my mother safe. But tonight I stand in the hopes of proving to Gale's family that the whispers are untrue. I certainly don't want Mrs. Hawthorne believing it.

"I do the dishes at home. I don't mind," I say with a shrug as I walk into the tiny kitchen.

Then I hear a voice pipe up in an accusing whisper.

"But you said she has people who do that for her-"

I stiffen and my neck cranes around to see Gale shoot a pointed look at Vick, who is leaning in to whisper. When my eyes meet theirs, they look like wild animals caught in a snare. I am torn between outrage and shock that Gale would tell his brothers anything like that, but I quickly recover when I realize that we are still playing the part of the smitten boyfriend and girlfriend.

"Only on Sundays," I say, my voice just loud enough to be heard above the television, a small smile playing on my lips.

From their expression, it is obvious they cannot tell if I am serious or joking. Of course, I do jest, so I throw a teasing wink in Gale's direction and follow Mrs. Hawthorne into the kitchen. Feeling the adrenaline pump against my ears, color flash across my face, I watch as Gale returns the wink with a crooked half-smile.

Mrs. Hawthorne and I are barely able to stand side-by-side in front of the rusting sink, so I stand against a cabinet covered in chipping white paint when she hands me a rag to dry the dishes. I open my mouth to offer to do more, but she dismisses me before the words even come out. A small window sits above the sink and looks out into the Seam. As Mrs. Hawthorne's hands absent-mindedly wash the grease off of her dishes, it is there that her eyes travel.

"I hope our house isn't too much of a shock for you," she says, handing me the first dish.

I shake my head, surprised that she would even say a thing like that. It is much more typical of Gale. Well, I think to myself, he must have gotten it from someone. I realize that there must be something more, that she must be going somewhere with her words, but she seems guarded in this moment. I silently wait for her to continue.

"But I guess once you've seen it, it takes the surprise away, doesn't it?"

She shoots me a coy look out of the side of her eye before turning her gaze back to the window. Through the glass, we can see the front porch and the small patch of dirt before it. Just where Gale and I struck our deal the day before. She knows. She knows everything about Gale and I. The dilemma. The deal. The game we're playing.

"Oh, I-" I have no idea how to react or answer to what she is implying, so I flounder for words. My hands freeze on the plate I am drying as Mrs. Hawthorne raises an eyebrow at me, waiting for an answer. Mercifully, I am saved by Gale's voice coming from the adjoining room.

"Madge? Ma?" He asks, his voice ringing out in a way that I have never before heard. "Evening recap."

I lay the plate I am drying down on the counter, refusing to meet Mrs. Hawthorne's gaze. What does she think of me now? Is she trying to tell me to stop? Or is she trying to encourage me? The questions and doubts flit around my mind as I walk to where Gale is sitting. His eyes are trained on the flickering television screen, and my ears tune into Caesar Flickerman's voice. Gale sits on the couch, his siblings tucked in to various spots around the room. His mother follows close behind me before finding a seat on a threadbare sewing chair. As I settle next to Gale, leaning over the back of the couch, I notice that Caesar Flickerman and his co-anchor appear more delighted than usual –as if children killing each other was something to applaud and celebrate—waving an enthusiastic hand to a large picture of Peeta. He looks so pale and terrified but determined. I don't envy him.

"Now, it would seem that Peeta Mellark," I roll my eyes at how much fun Caesar has with pronouncing that name, "and Katniss Everdeen are not the only star crossed lovers from District Twelve tonight."

My heart stops when a picture of my hand clasped in Gale's at the viewing of the Bloodbath appears onscreen. In the photograph, I am looking up at him with all of the hope in the world. I feel Gale tense next to me, probably as disgusted by the invasion of privacy as I am. We could be a painting or the subject of a book; two teenagers in the prime of their youth, showing unity in the face of the slaughter. The world stops and my hand clenches Gale's shoulder tightly. This is what we want. Attention. But I do not expect it so soon and so...public. But something about it seems wrong. My father is seeing this same broadcast. Worse, my mother may be watching. Worse still, I realize, President Snow is watching.

Caesar's co-anchor drops in, "Now, who is that?" Using his pen to point at a prompter in front of him as though he is not already aware of who the photographed couple is.

Caesar smiles and doesn't even have the decency to pretend to look down at his notes as though unsure.

"The girl in the photograph is, reportedly, the Mayor's daughter, Madge Undersee, whose Aunt, we all remember was tragically struck down in the arms of Haymitch Abernathy in the 50th Hunger Games," everything after my name comes out as an off-handed comment rather than the tragic reality that is my life. My heart breaks at the mention of Aunt Maysilee. Caesar reports everything diplomatically, warmly. As if commenting on the weather. As if we are props instead of people.

"And the boy is- though this has not been confirmed- Katniss Everdeen's cousin, Gale Hawthorne. You remember the strapping young lad we saw in the family interview after the Reaping?" Caesar asks his co-host.

The other man nods and Caesar continues.

"It seems to me that Katniss' volunteering for her sister has brought some people together," Caesar says coyly.

"Well," he pauses for emphasis, smiling, "to Mr. Hawthorne and his Ms. Undersee, I send my warmest wish for happiness."

He changes the subject, turning to roll the pictures of today's eleven fallen tributes one last time. I breathe a sigh of relief as my picture disappears from view, though Gale's shoulders stay tense and rigid under my hand. I immediately pull it away, not wanting to incite any more ire in him than is already there. I fear for a moment that he will call the whole thing off now that we have been seen together and that I will go back to being ignored. We both stare straight ahead, looking through the television set as the death count hovers in the corner of the screen harmlessly.

As they begin the graphic recounts of today's brutal murders, Hazelle herds her other children into bed. They protest loudly, but she manages to brush them out of the room, stopping to give Gale a kiss on the top of his head. Then, she turns to me.

"Goodnight, Madge," she says with a smile.

And then she does something odd. She kisses the top of my head just as she did with her son. Like I belong here. Like I'm apart of this family. My ears tinge red. I can't remember the last time that my own mother showed me such affection.

"Goodnight, Mrs. Hawthorne," I say, smiling at my hands.

When the doors to the two bedrooms in the back close, Gale looks away from me and back toward the television as the boy from One struggles with strangling a girl much weaker than him. I know how she feels.

"Well, we got what we want," Gale says, his voice limp and lifeless.

If we got what we wanted, why do I feel like we just made an awful mistake?

* * *

**Well, there it is! Shoutout to my best BETA, Ooyeteri. She's fabulous. I tried to make this a long chapter because I am not sure when I will be able to update next. I live in the cone for Hurricane Isaac, so keep us in your thoughts! **

**So...what did you think? What is your favorite line? Favorite part? Character? Anything you want to see in the future? I would love to hear your thoughts! Please review! :)**


	8. Chapter 8

After Caesar signs off for the night and the broadcast returns to the livestream of the sleeping Careers, I sink down lower in the seat beside Gale, sucking in a deep shuddering breath. It is only now, in the still silence, that I realize how alone we are. There is no buffer of a crowd or his family to distract us from the incredible elephant in the room. I count the things that I know for certain. We are now public. We have what we want. And that is about it. That is the extent of my certainty.

"You okay?" The voice beside me asks as Peeta twitches uncomfortably in his sleep.

I am surprised to hear that there is a real softness to Gale's words. He shouldn't be comforting me. He should be as terrified and anxious as I am, but he should not be comforting me. My eyes meet his and my shocked and exhausted defenses cannot bolster my lie.

"Fine," I breathe, trying to smile as I piece my reality together.

If there is anything I can do for him, it is pretend. But Gale does not buy my act for even the briefest second. His dark eyes pierce mine, knowing the answer before even asking.

"Yeah," He begins, shaking his head, "Me neither."

His words confirm what I suspect. I want to ask what he thinks now that this absurd plan has actually started to work. But I stay silent as his lips curl up in a small smile at me.

Minutes tick by in cautious silence. This time, though, the stillness is not comfortable. I know Gale's relationship history is more extensive than mine, so I wait to take my cues for him. Excepting Daddy and Haymitch, I have never been alone with a boy before. I allow Gale to take the lead. I wring my shaking hands, willing them to still.

"So, what do we do now that we're alone?" I finally ask, half hesitant and half expectant.

With no one watching us, I feel suddenly very exposed. There is no buffer dividing me from this fascinating and infuriating boy who can't ever make up his mind about what mood to be in. I tread lightly around him with my words, not wanting to upset him in light of the games and our great reveal. But his response is so shocking that it hits me like a slap across the face, the candor knocking the wind out of me.

"I could kiss you."

I splutter, gasping for air. I expect many things to happen here, but I do not expect _that_.

"What?" I ask, looking up at him with scandalized eyes.

When our gazes touch, though, the note of shock is gone and replaced with laughter. Gale smiles at me, his dark eyes amused by my moment of weakness.

"I'm kidding, Madge," he says easily, trying to quell my obvious anxiety.

I breathe a sigh of relief and try to muster up some anger at him, but it is no use. I join him in quiet, shaking laughter. His plan worked. The moment of tension caused by the games is now gone, and we are just two teenagers once more.

I follow him as he rises from the couch and grasps my hand. It has been twenty four hours since he first made such contact, and the sensation of it still shocks my senses. Reassurance that I am not alone, at least not physically.

"You need to get home, Madge," He says gently, his eyes never leaving mine for a moment.

My features fall, because for a moment I think he means to kick me out of his house, that I have overstayed my welcome. I open my mouth to say good night, my hand flinching to pull out of his, but he tightens his grip.

"I'll walk you," Gale offers.

Unsure of where this is going, I smile and nod anyway. At least we will be seen by more people and hopefully the Capitol attendees at home. Not that any of them would have missed the mandatory broadcast tonight and, with it, the news of our "romance."

"Alright," I concede.

Gale chuckles to himself, staring off into the distance as he leads me toward the front door through the house.

"I'm sure Daddy wouldn't want you out in the Seam alone at night."

I smirk.

"So you'll protect me?" I tease.

Gale opens the door and helps me off of the porch, not mentioning anything about telling his mother he is going. I suppose she is used to his random disappearances by now. Or perhaps she trusts that she raised a boy who would walk a girl home after a date. Either way, when we both land on the ground once more, he takes my hand up and my tense body involuntarily slackens at his touch. The dirt roads are silent in the night, and the plumes of smoke from the mines offer our only company. We set off into the darkness, walking toward my home in town.

"I've got a feeling you can protect yourself, Princess," He mutters, glancing at me sidelong.

I know there is no real threat in the Seam for me. I'm the Mayor's daughter, after all. But with Gale at my side, a feeling of peace settles over me. I know I shouldn't feel that way, but I cannot help it. Like it or not, Gale is the only thing keeping me from being utterly alone in all of this. Maybe we are not friends yet. But he is all I have.

"Doesn't hurt to have you around," I quip, a shrug rolling through my shoulders off-handedly.

I notice Gale shift a bit, whether out of discomfort or pride I cannot tell. He doesn't respond, and for a few moments the only sound I hear is the whistling wind passing down the street. It sends a chill through me and, unbidden, my minds travels to the Katniss buckling down for a cold night in the Arena. I decide to change the subject, pushing the images of the games from my mind as they devilishly try to creep up on me.

"I had a really nice night, Gale," I say, my smooth hand clenching his assuringly.

His jaw tightens as though a wire is strung through it and I can almost hear him gulp back a retort. Instantly, I regret my silly choice of words. We watched our friend fight for her life; there is nothing nice about that.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way," I say quickly.

We cross into town, leaving the Seam behind. The street lamps are lit here because the power grid in town is far more reliable, but the streets are just as empty. We are completely alone.

"You're not good with words, Madge," Gale retorts.

It is not a question, but I can tell he is-for the most part- joking.

"I'm just as good as you," I say sarcastically, pulling Gale onto the lamp lit sidewalk. He shakes his head with a chuckle as he follows my direction.

There is no official curfew in District Twelve, but by this time of night most of the house lights in town are dimmed or out completely. Businesses will be open tomorrow, and people use that as an excuse to turn out the lights and pretend The Games aren't happening.

As I look around, my stomach flutters as I realize how romantic this scene is- or, how romantic it might be if it were real. We are close, locked together by our intertwined hands, and we walk through our district through the starlit darkness. Gale and I are alone, whispering sweet words at each other as the late spring wind gently rustles our clothes. If it were real, it might be a romantic picture.

As we pass the Mellark home, I see the blueish glow of a television screen, the only light on in the house, radiating through the front window. His father must be awake. Gale notices my distance from the conversation and follows my gaze. He huffs and tries to bring me back down to reality.

"I think you should have dinner with us every night."

The words stop me dead in my tracks and successfully break my haze. My head snaps up toward Gale and the force of it almost throws me dizzy. I put my hands out to the sides as if to balance myself and blink rapidly, trying to put the world back into focus.

"What?" I ask, my voice betraying my disbelief.

Gale has been throwing me for more loops tonight than I care to count, and I pray that this is not another joke like the near-kiss in his living room. My heart could not handle it.

"Come to dinner. Maybe not every night," He quickly adds the last bit as I open my mouth to interject.

He takes up my hand and drags me down the street again, confident smile on his dark features.

"But most nights," He concludes with a content tone of finality.

As much as I loathe admitting it, that offer sounds nice. Promising. I will not have to be alone. I will not have to suffer in silence amongst a room of Capitol cronies who want nothing more than a gory death and a juicy headline. A bubbling erupts in my stomach, a nervous energy, and I smile at him.

"Why, though?" I ask.

We walk up the drive of my house and I know our conversation is coming to its end. But I have to know why I got the invitation. Just to distract me from staring at the Mellark house? Just to keep up the pretense of young lovers? Or something more? Gale stops on my porch and releases my grasp.

"Posy likes you, and Ma likes having another woman around once in a while."

He breaks his steeled eyes away from mine and shrugs the next sentence off as though it means nothing.

"And I don't mind having you around."

One side of my lips tug upward in a smirk as I nod. I contemplate saying no, playing with him, but I decide that today is not the day for that. He conceded that he doesn't mind my company. I'll accept that small victory with grace.

"Alright, Gale," I say, turning my back to him and walk to my door.

"No kiss goodnight?" he asks as my hand wraps the door handle.

I tense at the serious, truly curious and almost hurt, tone of his voice before slowly turning. But when my face is once more toward him and away from the door, I can see the smirk on his face. The second time in one evening that he has pulled this. I fight the urge to throw something at him, and instead shake my head pitifully.

"Goodnight, Gale," I say, rolling my eyes and swinging the front door open.

As I leave him on the porch, I can almost hear his voice whispering goodnight on the evening wind.

* * *

**So...Romance! What are your thoughts? I really would love it if more of you reviewed! My current reviewers are incredible and I love them, so if you aren't reviewing, I would love to hear your thoughts! Favorite lines? Quotes? Things you miss or have questions about? Please drop me a Review! **

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	9. Chapter 9

The next morning, I leave for school early enough to ensure that our visitors from the Capitol are still asleep. I stop in my mother's room before I go, however, just to check on her. The television in the corner is still set to the broadcast of The Hunger Games, presumably having been on all evening.

For the briefest moment, I think of Gale's mother. The thought is unbidden, but it comes to my mind nonetheless. I see her tall, lithe figure, strong and smiling even when it feels like the sky is falling. I shake my head, trying to rid myself of the image of Mrs. Hawthorne, so many worlds apart from my own mother, before spinning on my heel to leave. Daddy can take care of Mother if she wakes.

Collecting my books from the bag I left on my piano bench, I pick up a few strawberries from the kitchen before scurrying out of the house perhaps a little faster than necessary. But the last thing I need is to be late for Prim and Rory's reading lesson.

My fresh clothes feel heavenly, particularly after my clothes were dirtied trumping around in the woods and the Seam yesterday. Then I mentally scold myself when I realize that Gale and his siblings are lucky if they have two pairs of clothes. In many ways, Gale is right when he calls me Princess. I am spoiled.

But I push those thoughts to the side as I walk toward the school building. I shove my way through the front gate, cringing as the rusted hinges creak, breaking the stillness of the air. No one lingers in the front lawn, nor in the front hallway when I arrive there.

I brush into the front office, pushing past the thin door. I do not check in to a teacher at the beginning of the day like most students. Instead, I sign in with the secretary and conduct my reading lesson with Prim and Rory.

When I walk into the small room, large enough only for a desk and a chair, I offer a half hearted smile at the woman before me. Ms. Kara. A woman from the town, her hair is severely tied back and she pours over some papers at her desk. She isn't the kind or warm type. Ms. Kara does her job and that is all. Which is why she shocks me today. She looks up when the bell over her door rings. I smile.

"Good morning," I mumble, reaching over to grab a pen to sign her log.

She looks up at me interestedly, leaning forward on her desk. Her arm reaches across and pats my hand as it hovers above the check-in sheet.

"Madge, dear. I know it's none of my business-"

Then why are you talking about it? I want to ask. But I don't. I simply wait or her to continue.

"But you don't have to do this."

Her eyes are wide and sympathetic. I can feel her pulse on the top of my hand. For a moment, I think she means that I don't have to go to school, but then her hand clenches around mine and she speaks again.

"You and that- Gale boy. There are plenty of good, young men who would keep any eye out on you," she says, her voice quiet and measured though her eyes are blazing and dangerous.

I furrow my brow and look down at her. This makes no sense.

"What?" I ask, keeping my voice down as well, completely unsure of why we're doing so.

She purses her lips and quirks an eyebrow, as though my confusion is purposeful.

"I just don't want to see you lost because Katniss is gone. I always worried about you being so close with her, you know."

I do not know. This is all news to me.

"Gale and I aren't-" I begin, but then I realize that, to everyone else, we are. We absolutely are.

Her hand retracts from mine and she picks up her stack of papers. Her face pinches.

"Everyone has their own ways of grieving, I suppose."

I'm not grieving, I want to shout. No one is dead. But I don't. Because her niece died two years ago from dehydration in the arena. So, I guess someone is dead.

"Have a good day, Ms. Kara," I mumble through my teeth, pulling my books from the counter and walking out of the door.

I do not bother to listen for her reply. Through the open classroom doors, I hear the audio from today's broadcast of The Hunger Games just beginning. School attendance in the districts is compulsory during the Games, but performing actual classwork is not required and even discouraged. They trust teachers over parents to force students to watch the torture and mutilation of children their own age.

Finally, I reach Prim and Rory's classroom. I offered the extra help to all of the students in their class, and though their teacher informed me that most of them needed the help, Prim and Rory are the only two to sign up. Prim first and then Rory, of course. Prim, I imagine, signed up because she actually wanted to read complex medical texts and prescription bottles in her mother's house one day. Rory, of course, joined the lessons because Prim would be there. I smile faintly at the thought and knock on the open door.

"Hello, Madge," their homeroom teacher greets. "They're ready, but, Prim, dear-"

The teacher must think that Prim wants to stay and watch the Games, but the second the youngest Everdeen notices my presence, she is out of her seat and running out of the door. Rory takes it as his cue to leave, picking his things up and slumping over toward me.

Their classmates are locked in a state something akin to shell-shock. Mouths hang open, breathing is heavy, and eyes never stray from the television. It could have, just as easily, been any of them up there.

"Thank you," I say to the teacher before following my two pupils down the hall.

Prim is ahead of us by a few paces, so I call to her. She stops dead in her tracks and takes a shuddering breath. I put a comforting hand on her shoulder and bend down in the middle of the hall to be on her eye level. Dully, I think it is interesting how often I am in this position the last few days.

"Prim, are you sure you want to have our lesson today?" I ask.

Rory takes a few steps forward before thinking better of it and taking those same steps backward. Prim's whole body is shaking in my hands, but she refuses to cry. She is so much like Katniss, I think to myself. So brave. Perhaps too brave for their own good. I almost envy them. I am afraid of everything.

"I don't want to watch the Games right now," she says, easily skirting around the question.

I nod and accept her refusal as my answer. Reading lesson it is.

"Let's go, then. Rory!" I call to him, "How about we read outside today?"

The pair jump at the chance. In general, I steer clear of conducting our lessons outside, knowing that Rory is bound to get distracted by anything and everything to see out there and his enthusiasm is sure to infect Prim. There is a bench in the front school yard, and the day is clear. I assume that Prim will appreciate not having to listen to the sound of the Games either. Within moments, the three of us sit on the steel bench, a book in my lap as I sit in the middle. It is not exactly light reading (I manage to convince my father to let me borrow it off of his office shelf. It has to do with the first Mayor of District Twelve... Though why anyone would write a book about that is beyond me). After a while, Prim gets through her passage and hands the book over to Rory with a triumphant and even challenging look on her face. Rory clears his throat and squints down at the words.

"And I say to all dis-dis-" Rory stumbles out.

He tries to continue. Normally this would be my cue to cut in, but I am far from my work today.

"Hey, Undersee!" A voice calls in a mockingly amiable tone.

All three of us situated on the bench look up. Casca, the boy whose family owns the dry goods store, saunters up as though he owns the place. His pants are new and ironed, a sharp contrast to the two children sitting at my sides. He is one of those many boys who always liked Katniss. Not nearly as much as Gale does, but you could tell from the way he always tried to get paired with her for things and the way he tried to edge between us in line for lunch. Today, he carries no books, his body completely light and carefree and he pushes through the squeaky iron gate, in spite of his blatant tardiness.

"I gotta question," he says, shoving his hands in his pockets as he walks.

His waxed shoes flicker in the sunlight, a malicious glint like off of Katniss' arrows or Cato's knife.

"Yeah?" I respond, knowing it will be better to humor him than to ignore him.

I know Casca is harmless. His whistle may be loud, but the water doesn't boil. All the same, I am in no mood for a shouting match in the middle of my reading lesson.

"How long did you wait to screw your best friend's cousin? A day? Two?"

He stops in front of me, looming before me.

"Or were you two fucking all along?"

"Hey-!" I hear Rory shout up at him.

I instantly rise to my feet, impulsively, as though I expect to fight him or something equally ridiculous. The fact that someone would even suggest something so wrong hurts. I feel Prim's little hand tap my wrist as Casca laughs in my face and keeps walking toward school.

"And what do you think Katniss will say when she finds out?"

Before I can retort, the school door slams and he is gone. I heave in an angry breath and try to relax my tense shoulders. It does not work.

In light of everything that is happening, Casca's words are petty. Incredibly petty and small. Children are being forced to kill each other and he wants to taunt me about my 'boyfriend?' I know that Casca doesn't care about me. In his own twisted way, he cares about Katniss and doesn't want to see her two best friends "shacking up". But the idea that we are hurting Katniss instead of helping her cuts me deeply.

I try to push it from my mind, but now a shadow is cast over me. The once beautiful sky seems darkened over and the wind is tinged with chill. I am upset by how much Casca's small words affect me. I'm upset that in spite of everything terrible around us, people still find time for inane, pointless feuds and squabbles that mean nothing. I am upset that we are still playing games long after the reaping is over and I am upset that no one cares about Katniss like Gale and I do. I am upset that no one notices how much we care.

After a moment of silence from me, Prim looks up, her eyes suspicious. I know that she is clinging to me to refrain from following Casca herself.

"Are you okay, Madge?" She asks.

I am looking off at the door where Casca stood earlier blankly, my edges frayed as I think more and more about my grievances with him. I swallow my haze down and struggle to focus once more.

"Yes, yes," I begin, "Just keep reading."

But we all know that I have lost all interest and focus on the lesson at hand.

"Don't worry about him," Prim says, more to herself than to me as she keeps her eyes cast steadily downward.

"Why would you say that?" I ask, turning the page for Rory and picking a new passage for him to read from.

I try to distract myself with the simple task, but I could not fight the veiled quiver in Prim's voice.

"Because he says things to me too, sometimes."

My blood boils at her words, but I understand them. Children, especially those from the Town, have always been cruel to the families of the Tributes. It is not always lucky to remain at home. Unsure of what to do, I extend one arm and squeeze Prim to my side in a sidelong hug. She sinks into me a little, and we spend the rest of our lesson listening to Rory stumble through his reading exercises. The sound of his voice distracts us both, and he diligently tries his best at sounding out every difficult syllable in an attempt to help us both for the moment.

After the lesson is over, I return to my own classes. The rest of the day passes by in a blur. No real lessons are taught and no real work gets done in any class. I avoid Casca at all costs. Katniss is tied up in a tree. The little girl from 11 is on her own. The Careers-plus Peeta- tromp around the arena like a pack of wild dogs as they search for the girl from District Eight. And the moment the school bell rings, I skirt out of class. I find Gale in the hallway, waiting for me, it would seem. Without even stopping, I breeze past him. I've planned this since yesterday, and I don't want Gale's damnable pride to get in the way. Besides, I could certainly use the distraction.

"I'll be by later. I've got errands," I throw over my shoulder as I pass him and walk through the building.

I am too distracted to talk to Gale. I force myself to focus on something else. He calls after me, but the noise is drowned out by the flood of school children bustling about me. I scurry down the front steps and turn the corner, my destination so clear in my mind that there is no room for anything else up there. I step lively, arms locking my books tight into my chest. I pass by whispering students and nondescript buildings without thought, staring straight ahead until I see the sign for the Mellark Bakery. I push through the door, and the bell signals my entrance. The room is warm and the smell of baked goods assaults my nose. I hear the mumble of Ceasar's voice in the next room over as Mr. Mellark speeds out to greet me. A look of shock crosses over his features. He supplies all of our food for our visitors, and I'm sure he fears that I've come to complain about something.

"Hello, Madge. Is something the matter?"

I can sense his anxiety to return to his television set for news of his son. He taps his foot and he blinks rapidly at me, waiting for my answer.

"Not at all. We're really happy with your service. Thank you," I smile at him, hoping to calm him down, "I was just wondering if I could-"

I give him orders for some bread whose name is fancy and whose price matches it as I pull some coins from my pocket and place them on the counter. The loaf of bread is large and I know it will last the Hawthorne family at least two days. I smile as he takes my President Snow stamped coins and hands over the tightly wrapped bread.

"Thank you, Mr. Mellark," I say quickly, knowing he will want to return to his family and the Games.

He manages a nervous smile and nod for me before we both turn away from each other.

"Thank you, Madge. And best of luck to you and Gale," He says.

But as I begin my walk toward the Seam, I know he doesn't just mean good luck with our relationship. There is something more to it. I think of Casca, his anger and his misplaced attempts to protect the girl he admired from a distance. I think of myself, and my inability to speak with my mother as I left my house this morning. And I think of Mrs. Kara, who couldn't tell me that she didn't want me to end up like she did, alone, afraid, and bitter, after her niece died in the Games.

As I clutch the still warm bread and books to me, I marvel at everyone's inability to just say what they really mean.

**Here we are! The aftermath of the publicity! I cannot wait to hear yourfeedback! I love that you all have been alerting and favoriting, but it means the world to me as a writer when you take that extra minute to review and give some feedback! Thanks for reading! I love you all!**


	10. Chapter 10

I take my time walking toward Gale's home, taking the long way through town. When I get through the Seam, I dawdle more time than I should, but I look around curiously. It is just the start of evening, and miners are coming home from their shifts. I've never seen the miners come home from work; I've never had reason to. I know it is rude to stare, but I cannot help it. They flood the entire street, each miner caught somewhere between ectacsty at seeing the sun and dismay at their exhaustion. Their heavy steps beat the road, their burdened bodies sidling slowly toward their families and homes. Coal and soot covers them, though the occasional face is streaked with blood from a passing accident that didn't cost them the day's work. The workers pass me on the street, and a few even tip their heads and smile at me. Later, I will realize it is probably because I am their boss' daughter. But in that moment, I assume the contact to be genuine, so I return the favor, feeling my spirits rise as they make me forget my brief encounter with ignorance this morning and the sad look in Mr. Mellark's face this afternoon.

"Put on a brave face," I say to myself as I turn the corner to Gale's block. The last thing I want is Gale worrying about my safety. I don't need him to save me.

When I come up to Gale's house, I see Posy staring out of the kitchen window, completely bored, until I walk up. Suddenly, her face lights up and I can hear her from the road.

"Madge's here! Madge's here!" she shouts, coming down from her perch in the window and running to swing the door open.

Gale is right at her heels, gently pushing her from his way as he jumps over the rotted steps with ease. Without a word, he lifts me in his arms like a rag doll, and I let out a shout of surprise. It doesn't last long, though, as Gale pulls me up over the stairs and I land in the doorway with a thud. His eyes me wearily, his eyes flickering between my far off look and the bread clutched to my chest. I do not meet his gaze. Wordlessly, his hand is on my back and he guides me toward the kitchen. Posy is at our side, prattling on at a million miles a minute. I look to the kitchen.

"Hello, Mrs. Hawthorne," I call over the stream of Posy's words.

Uncomfortable at Gale's direct stare, I shift my gaze toward the woman, and catch sight of her stirring something in a tin pot on the stove. Her body is slouched every so slightly over the meal, the heat rising up into her face. She looks up from her work toward me, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead. I hear Posy vaguely pester Gale in the background, somewhere behind me.

"Hello, Madge! You look lovely today," she says, smiling kindly.

Then, with a quick glance to her son, she drops her ladle into the bowl and puts her hands on her hips.

"And don't you give me that look, Gale Hawthorne. If you're going to pout over there, someone has to tell her how nice she looks."

"Well, I think she looks nice," says Rory, who has drug his brother into the kitchen to investigate the noise.

I feel a tingling blush brush across my cheeks as I look up at Gale, who is, indeed, pouting. Gale's eyes finally pierce mine, as he tries to understand my pointed avoidance of him all day. His arms fold in front of his chest and he leans back on his hips, appraising me.

"So, anything wrong?" he asks, turning away from the table, where the children are situated.

To my left, I see Rory open his mouth to speak, but I get to it first, ignoring Mrs. Hawthorne's protestation of, "That's not the kind of talk I was hoping for." I put on a sad smile and say the only thing that I know will throw him off the subject.

"I stopped by to see Mr. Mellark after school. I'm worried about him with everything going on," I say, turning from the table as well, trying to get a moment of privacy with Gale to quell his frustration.

Disapproval falls over Gale's features at the mention of Peeta's family name, and I know this line of questioning is over. Internally, I celebrate a victory. Posy pulls on my arm, as Vick and Rory set the table at their mother's request.

"What's that?" she asks, her eyes wide and arms reaching up for the package.

I hand it over to her.

"Get your mother to open it and we'll see," I say, putting on a show of warmth in spite of Gale's frosty stare.

But before she can even begin bounding away toward her mother, Gale crosses to Posy and pulls the bread from her arms, laying it on the table.

"I'll get it," he explains to me, shrugging off my thinly veiled annoyance.

I know he knows what is inside. Perhaps he just doesn't want to accept it.

"So, this was your errand?" He asks with a breathless chuckle, quirking his eyebrow up at me derisively as he clips the small knotted rope trying the package together with a knife from the table.

The brown paper falls away and Posy cries out gleefully. Gale, on the other hand, looks up at me with something I am all together unfamiliar with: disappointment. It stings me.

"Madge-" His voice low and pained.

I place my hand on his shoulder, trying to think of something to say, but I am saved my a ruckus at the table.

"Vick!" Posy shouts, swatting her brother.

I swing around just in time to see the boy in question has his hands over the bread parcel, trying stealthily to rip off a piece from the end. His head shoots up guiltily and stares back at us.

"What?" he asks, trying to play it off.

Gale steps forward to investigate and interrogate, but I reach a hand up and touch his shoulder lightly. His head snaps back at me.

"It's just some bread," I chide, "He can have some."

Disapproval slides over Gale's features and I understand. The sharp look in his eyes tells me clearly: this is not part of the bargain.

"Mrs. Hawthorne, I brought some bread for dinner. Is that alright?"

The immediate shift in her posture tells me that it is most certainly unexpected. She rises from her crouched position over the stew and looks at me, struggling with something. Finally, she nods and smiles, bringing the pot over for dinner.

We sit around the table, everyone sitting in their usual seats. Gale sits to my left, Posy on my right. Mrs. Hawthorne speaks amicably throughout the meal, telling stories about her children that make me laugh and make them cringe. I often spare a glance for Gale, watching as he carefully avoids the bread and conversation. I suppose I understand his point of view. Why make his family used to a lifestyle that isn't permanent?

* * *

After the night's stew is done and Posy is asleep and tucked in bed, the rest of the family sits around before the Hunger Games broadcast. The remainder of the loaf of bread is wrapped tight and sitting in the Hawthorne's bread box. I notice that through dinner, Gale doesn't take a single bit of it, and I wonder if his pride keeps him from the indulgence or if it is the fact that the bread is from the Mellark bakery.

Vick and Rory share the only stuffed chair in the house. Mrs. Hawthorne does some mending in a stiff-backed chair at the kitchen table, explaining that her youngest son can't seem to keep the knees of his pants intact. I am almost certain she is lying; when I look back, she pours over a basket of freshly laundered clothes, folding them intricately. She is working and does not want me to know it. I now know where Gale gets his damnable pride from.

Gale and I sit in the floor, propped up against the wall, close enough to touch but far enough away to be proper. It is more than a little comforting that, even in the midst of his frustration, he still wants to be close to me. Maybe he cares more than I thought.

But I can't focus because the girl from Eight is dead, and the sound of her cannon sends me a kind of sick relief. One less opponent for Katniss. Peeta killed her, apologizing quietly once the light left her eyes. I want to hate him for it, but as I watch the tears brim in his eyes, I find no anger in my heart for him. The Careers are sitting around her campfire. After watching mindlessly for a long while, Gale's eyes shift in my direction. He whispers to me.

"You can't keep doing things like this, Madge," his voice quiet, but unwavering.

The boy and girl from District Two are making hungry eyes are each other across the flames, and my stomach turns sour. I rip my gaze from the screen and look up at Gale to dispel the image from my mind.

"Things like what?" I ask.

Gale gives me an unamused look. I am not dumb, and I am convinced that he hates when I try to play it.

"Gifts, Madge."

He huffs a frustrated sigh.

"I'm not going back to square one with you. I thought we were okay."

My eyebrows furrow up at him. Of course we are 'okay.' Whatever could make him think otherwise?

"We are."

Or, as close to okay as we are ever going to be. Gale's hands twitch before clenching into tight fists.

"I can take care of my own family, Madge," he snaps.

I feel myself getting mental whiplash. Not entirely sure how he jumps from our understanding of friendship to his ability to provide for his family, I nod anyway.

"I know you can," I assert, entirely certain that it is the truth.

Gale has had to provide for his family for a long time. I only want to help. But I cannot tell him that. His pride would not suffer the damage.

"Last night," he pauses, and my face flushes at the implications of the words paired with his hushed tone, "I thought you understood that we were even. Now you give us bread like we're charity."

Suddenly, I understand why he thinks we aren't fine. He thinks I'm treating him sympathetically. I open my mouth to defend myself, but I have nothing to say yet. I simply take one of my hands and lay it atop his white knuckled fist. After a moment of touch, Gale sighs and unclenches his hand at my silence. His body deflates a bit and he turns his face back toward me.

"You'll give my family the wrong idea. You can't keep giving us things."

I get the itch to ask him just what kind of idea I'm giving them, but I don't.

"Why not?" I ask as though I don't already know.

We are dating after all, I want to add. Again, I bite my tongue. I really want to ask why it was alright with Katniss; I really want to scream my frustration that in this relationship, this counterfeit romance, even my polite gestures are questioned. But I do neither of these things, and I am surprised when Gale gives my first question a truthful answer, his eyes so open and honest that they are painful to look at directly.

"Because I can't pay you back for this," he confesses almost instantly.

He looks back at the Careers and Peeta, refusing to see me. I know he doesn't like saying this, so I comfort him. Unused to the contact, I try to thread my fingers through his. It takes a moment of my awkward fumbling before he saves me and flips his arm over so our hands are effectively locked. I chuckle at my inexperience and lay my head on his shoulder, knowing that while my words may mean nothing to him, perhaps the physical comfort could speak for me.

"I don't need grand gestures, Gale," I say, my voice barely audible over the television's hum.

His harsh glare at Peeta slackens, but he does not shift his eyes toward me. I take it as my permission to continue.

"I just need you."

I nearly slap myself. That came out all wrong. What I mean to say is that without him, this scheme wouldn't even be a possibility, much less a reality. He doesn't have to pay me back because he is already giving me something.

"I- I mean-"

One side of Gale's mouth tugs upward and he spares his eyes for a moment, looking only at me.

"I know what you mean, Madge."

But underneath, he sounds about as unsure as I feel. We are saved from another awkward moment as Vick pipes up from his corner of the room.

"What are you two girls whispering about over there?"

My wide eyes turn as Vick sighs and throws his hands in the air. Our close proximity and hushed tones obviously frustrate him. Rory is biting his lip and backing away from his younger brother slowly, afraid of his older brother's reaction. Gale's look of shock sends me over the edge. I burst into hysterical fits of laughter.

"Fine. We'll just leave then," Gale says, leaping to his feet and offering me his hand.

I put my hand in his and let him pull me up before saying my goodbyes to the Hawthorne family. I thank the maker that Posy is asleep, because I can only imagine that goodbye would take all night.

"We'll see you tomorrow, won't we, Madge?" Mrs. Hawthorne asks me over her mending.

I nod and feel Gale's hand twitch in mine.

"If I'm welcome."

She beams up at me.

"You're always welcome," she says.

Gale shoots his mother a look that I can't exactly read and pulls me toward the exit quickly. He helps me over the front steps and into the street. We begin our walk in silence, but eventually he speaks.

"I know what you meant earlier, Madge, but I can't let you keep giving us things."

I sigh. Are we really back to this?

"They're gifts, Gale. You don't have to pay me back," my voice picking up volume and vigor. I am tired of this conversation. It never seems to get anywhere.

Gale's jaw locks.

"That's not how things work, Madge," he says, exhausted.

I shrug.

"That's how this will work," I say with a nonchalance that surely frustrates Gale.

He mulls that over, obviously calculating his next move.

"So you get to decide?" he asks.

I smirk and shrug again.

"I'm never going to ask you to pay me back, Gale," I say, shaking my head at his insistence.

He sighs next to me, kicking up a rock.

"But you're not going to stop, are you, Madge?"

I smile and think about a way to put this argument to bed. Gale will only be satisfied if he can pay me back.

"Look, we'll settle the tab when Katniss comes home, alright? Don't worry until then."

Gale seems to think about this, eventually nodding his assent. I know very well that Katniss may never return. But I don't think Gale believes in that possibility. His agreement reminds me of his immense faith in her.

"Deal," he says.

We walk for a few steps in the darkness, stepping into the pools of lamplight together. The hum of the night reminds me just how tired I am. After the argument, I let the worries of the day fall away like rain, trickling away one by one.

"Rory told me something happened today," Gale says.

Just when I think I'm starting to like that kid.

"Did he?"

Besides our previous conversation, this is the last conversation I want to have. I look off into the distance and purse my lips, hoping he will take the hint. He doesn't.

"Madge."

His says my name with such grit that I sigh and resign, falling back into reality.

"Some people just don't understand. That's all."

Gale scrutinizes me.

"And that's all?" He asks.

I nod and shrug.

"Basically," I say.

Quirking his eyebrow at me, Gale asks, "What'd this person say?"

The thought of the petty words and the crude stares makes my mouth turn to acid. They are not worth repeating. I shrug it off.

"Does it matter?" I ask, "This isn't for him. It's for the Capitol."

Without hesitation, Gale responds.

"So, you're just giving yourself over for the Capitol?"

He stops and turns toward me. We are so close that our chests almost touch. His face is tilted downward so he can search my face for some kind of answer.

"It's the only way we can actually help Katniss, Gale. You know that," I rationalize.

Gale's eyes narrow.

"You're letting them just trample over you so you can stay with me?" he asks.

"You act like dating you is such a chore," I laugh, a smile spreading across my face easily.

I put one hand on his chest reassuringly. Did I have trepidation? Yes. Does it hurt to hear people insult Gale and I when all we want is to save our friend? Yes. But is dating Gale a bad thing? I don't think so.

And just like that, one hand is around my waist and another hand is on my cheek. The sensitive skin on my face feels those same scars and calluses from yesterday, but I sense them more deeply, more profoundly. My heart skips a beat as he inches ever closer and I hold my breath. His eyes are calculating, and I wish I know what he is thinking. He moves in, a breath away from my first kiss. But instead of his lips touching mine, his forehead falls against mine and a mischievous look crosses his features.

"Have fun with your guests. Goodnight, Madge," he whispers.

All at once, the contact is gone and Gale is walking away. My head swivels toward my house, where Capitol citizens are scrambling to leave the window before I can catch them spying on my private moment. I flush with embarrassment and indignation, but am all at once reminded that nothing belongs to me. Especially not my relationship with Gale.

* * *

**Oh, you didn't think you were getting a kiss that easily, did you? I love to my Beta, Ooyeteri, who saved this chapter, and EACH and EVERY reviewer/ alerter/favoriter. You guys are amazing! Please take the extra time yo review! I would SO appreciate it! Any predictions? Reactions? Anything? Let me know!**


	11. Chapter 11

The next day, I wake to a frantic knock on my door. The heavy handed raps belong to my father, and I recognize them immediately. My eyes refuse to open, but I speak anyway.

"Yes?" I mumble, turning my mouth away from my pillow to be heard. Perhaps I should recognize the gravity of the situation at that moment, but my exhaustion makes it impossible to process anything.

My door swings open, and my eyes snap wide at the sound. Daddy stands in the doorway, looking exhausted and rumpled instead of rested and fresh at this early hour.

"The President just sent us a message," He says, his voice low and gravelly.

My heart skips a beat and I snap up in bed. President Snow? What could he want? My mind flits a million directions, from the Hob to the fence before Daddy speaks again.

"He wants to speak to you," he begins, answering my unspoken question. He flicks my light switch, flooding the room with bright artificial sunshine. I wince.

"Get dressed. Quickly."

And with those hurried, brusque words, he is gone. The door slams behind him, and I am left leering at his clipped tone. My father never speaks to me like that. But I could hear it. Fear. Fear bubbles within every tense word.

And then his words hit me like a barrel of coal. President Snow. President Snow wants to speak to me. The thought makes me want to leap out of bed to action and yet hide under my blankets all at once. I do the former, knowing what disobedience means. Play the part, I think to myself as I stand before my mirror and dress. If you play your role, everything will be alright.

Moments later, I am in the living room, where the entire Capitol team is waiting for me. The primping team sets to work, putting me in a chair and ensuring that I am up to Capitol standards. It simply won't do to have me look less than my best. My lips are covered in a heavy red paint. They powder my cheeks with a pink chalk-like substance, deciding against the heavy white cream base that the rest of them wear. My face is blanched enough as it is, shocked white by my nerves. I am created in the image of the Capitol, my every good feature highlighted and my every flaw tucked away.

My hair is twisted painfully around ornate pins built in the shape of our District symbol and I feel the headache coming on. District pride is painful, I think wryly to myself as I close my eyes against the heartbeat developing in the front of my skull. The prep team prattles on endlessly, assuring me that they won't use the whole interview, just the pieces that make me look best. And they may not even use the interview at all. Somehow, I am not comforted. My father sits in his chair in the center of the room, watching with a cool, impassive look that only betrays how nervous he really is.

They set up the interview in front of the window that overlooks my dutifully kept garden, the only window in the house that doesn't look out over poverty and squalor. From this view, District Twelve looks positively idyllic. At this hour, the sun slants its way through the window gently, brushing past the curtains without a care, completely oblivious to the broken and struggling lives it is glowing past. The window peers over my garden, giving way to the forest and the hills in the distance. At this angle, District Twelve is paradise.

"Now, Madge," the woman whose name is Vicki, speaks to me as she sinks into a seat across from me, off camera, "All you have to do is answer the questions and don't forget to smile. Can you do that for me?"

She speaks as though I am a stupid child she is trying to coax into an unappealing activity. She is all smiles and high pitch lilts. I notice the red light on the camera that now sits before me, staring me down like the eye of God. It's the eye of Snow, I think, which is practically the same thing. I tear my gaze away from it and stare at a screen to the right. It stands at the same height of the camera, and it displays the Capitol logo, spinning in lazy, controlled circles.

"Will President Snow be there?" I ask, ignoring her question all together.

She giggles, joined by her friends from the Capitol, as though I have said something immensely silly. My father, sitting stoically in his chair, cannot even find it in himself to feign laughter for our guests. He merely watches our conversation with blatant interest and veiled fear.

"Oh, no! President Snow is far too busy, but he sent a few questions of his own!"

She leans a small telescreen in my direction before laying it in her lap. There are questions typed out across the screen, blinking in bright green against a black backdrop.

"The Capitol is so excited about the star-crossed lovers you know, and President Snow always gives his support to the Capitol favorites."

"Oh," I breathe, as though I understand, though I do not, "Is this live?"

She gives me a look as though this is something I should know. I am a silly girl. She shakes her head, her pink bouffant curls taking perfectly in place as though they are made of metal.

"Of course not!" she chides, waving a hand at me, "Only tributes and victors have live interviews. You can have as many takes a you like, and the team in the Capitol edits them all together. We want to give you every opportunity to say precisely what you want to say."

Her words are meant to comfort me, but they don't. A rock settles in the pit of my stomach and my face blanches beneath the mountains of makeup. Say the lines they want to hear, I think to myself. If you just say what they want to hear, they'll help Katniss. And if you don't, you'll be an Avox by morning. Play the game. Play the game.

They give a countdown and then the red light begins to blink. I concentrate all of my nervous energy into smiling, praying that it looks genuine.

"State your name and District," she begins clinically, reading off of the script in her hands, a script I wish I was privy to.

I gulp, but keep my painful smile plastered across my face. I feel the heat of several gazes baring down onto me, the eyes of my father and the Capitol alike. I flush. My foot taps against our carpet, my anxiety evident. I say a silent prayer that the camera shows me only from the waist up.

"Madge Undersee. District Twelve," I give a wave and a smile, "Hello."

I even have the audacity to bat my eyelashes. That's it, Madge. Turn on the charm. Lay it on thick and Katniss may even get something out of this. The world is watching. You never know who might want to help.

"Now, Madge," the familiarity of my name on this woman's lips is jarring, "Your father is the Mayor in District Twelve, isn't he?"

I nod, unsure of where this line of questioning is going, or why anyone in the Capitol is the least bit interested in Daddy. I nod and look to her, but she cuts me off before I can open my mouth.

"Into the camera, dear," she says, her smile unmoving though I can hear the annoyance drip like a steady rain.

"Right. Sorry," I say before correcting my gaze.

The little red light seems blinding and the camera looms in the forefront of my vision dangerously. I want nothing more than to turn away, but I do not. I stand my ground.

"Yes. My father is Mayor here in District Twelve."

Vicki nods encouragingly, as though I've just done something grand, though I have answered the most basic of questions.

"And how is your mother? She was quite the piano player when she was young. It says here that they tried to keep her in the Capitol, but she just couldn't resist your father."

There is a glint in the woman's eye that is supposed to encourage me to tell some grand romantic story, but there is not one to tell. Yes, my mother loved my father. And it destroyed both of them in the end. I think to the sleeping woman upstairs, trapped in a small room and deluded by her morphling nightmares of Maysilee's games. I remember that these are President Snow's questions; he is the one prodding and pulling the strings here. He harmed my mother. He has harmed countless others. And he can so much more damage. So much more.

"My mother is fine," I say in a show of reassurance, a little more stiffly than before.

This shift does not go unnoticed by Vicki. She shoots me a look that stings across the small room.

"And you are glad that the Capitol is helping her, aren't you?"

I almost gulp, but when I see my father excuse himself, I don't. I remain strong. So, they are going to threaten my family, are they?

"Yes. The Capitol takes great care of her."

This isn't entirely true. But half truths will do for now. Better half truths now then full truths today and a bombed house tomorrow.

"And you are close with the District Twelve's only victor, Haymitch Abernathy, yes?"

Oh. _Oh_. That is a thin ice question, I think to myself. Haymitch is the shining Exhibit A of the Capitol's supreme power. He is the example, the man they have put on display as if to say, "Would you rather suffer as you are, or would you rather suffer as he does?" I decide on a compromise that Haymitch will probably be too saturated in liquor to understand.

"It is the duty of the Mayor's family to look after the living victors," I say as I fold my hands in my lap.

It is true, after all. Mayors are obligated to look after and take care of their victors, as extensions of the Capitol. But that isn't the reason I treat Haymitch like family.

"We are able to take good care of Haymitch because he is our only victor. Hopefully this year he will have a friend in the village."

That's it, Madge, I think to myself. Twist the knife. Show Katniss your support.

"Quite good. Quite good. Now, the entire nation saw your artwork on television the other afternoon."

My artwork? I want to ask. I don't draw. But my confusion is cleared when she picks a photo off of her lap and holds it up to me. Gale and I hold hands while the Bloodbath plays in the background. Then, another picture of Gale and I locked in a near-kiss. My stomach rolls at that fresh wound. President Snow made up this program. President Snow has seen Gale and I dating. He knows. I struggle to breathe as I wipe my sweating palms on the hem of my dress.

"Does your father know? I imagine it was quite a shock for him to see you with this boy rather than at his side."

I shake my head, staring into the camera, at the ominous blinking red light. My palms are sweating; my stomach is churning. But I smile.

"My father has always known, and he approves."

I add the last bit before she can ask. It would not look good for the Mayor's daughter to run around without her father's permission.

"Ah, I see."

My entire body flushes at that. Have I just made a mistake?

"And how long have you known this boy? Gale Hawthorne is his name, isn't it?"

Her words slide from her tongue and wrap around me like a snake. I feel like I am suffocating. In the midst of everything happening this morning, I completely forgot about Gale's charade last night. I flush at the thought. Gale's manipulation is fresh and painful, but I have to play at young love. The cameras are on and I cannot disappoint. But more than that, there is the implication, the ease with which she says his name. As though she knows him or has spoken of him often.

"Yes."

It's all I can manage to say; I ignore her question about how long weave known each other, even though I know the answer. Too many thoughts swirl around my head to formulate them into words. Snow knows Gale. And he must know that this isn't real. President Snow is not a fool or a sheep. He will not be swayed by a few pictures, not like the Capitol. My stomach rolls as I imagine what my punishment will be. I'll be an Avox by morning. I'll be whipped or exiled or executed.

"And how long have you two been together?"

I snap back to reality, pulled away from my dark thoughts and my shaking hands. Again, I wonder fleetingly why anyone in the Capitol cares about us. Shouldn't they worry about Katniss? Don't they have children to murder? And if Snow is going to out our plot, why not just do it now?

"Uh-" I begin, and my smile falters for the first time.

"There's no need to be nervous, Madge, dear. The rumor is that the two of you have been together as long as the games. Is that so?" She is trying to sound helpful, but it sounds bitter and sharp from her mouth.

I hesitate. Should I admit to that?

"It must have been somewhere around there," I finally decide.

That's a safe enough answer, right?

"Yes. And is it serious? Do you think it's love?"

I look away from the camera into the television screen displaying the national emblem. From the corner of my eye, I can see Vicki smile beneath her thick lipstick, and I know her words are more than they appear.

Snow knows. And he wants to know if I'm willing to keep this up. I will live as long as I do not upset the balance and order.

I smile shyly at the floor.

"Maybe," I say, playing coy and implying things of my own.

I keep my head down, staring at my nails like a bashful schoolgirl.

"And what about his family? I know his father is dead-" Her blunt assessment knocks the wind out of me, "but the rest of them must love you. His mother, Hazelle Hawthorne, and his younger siblings... Rory and Vick and Pansy-"

"Posy."

My head immediately snaps up as the woman mistakes the youngest Hawthorne's name.

"Her name is Posy," I repeat earnestly.

But as I look up at Vicki's face, I get the sick feeling that this is no mistake. I just thoughtlessly gave up how much I care. I showed my hand. Gale's family is my weak spot. And she now knows it. But, more importantly, now President Snow knows it. This pawn of his has gotten from me exactly what he needs.

"Yes. That's right. Posy," she says, drawing every word out slowly, victoriously.

Suddenly, I understand. It is not me that Snow is after. They mentioned my father, my mother, Haymitch. The Hawthorne family. Gale. All the people I love. The people who will go if I fail to keep up this pretense.

It is too early in the morning to deal with politics. My head throbs as my mind races. If I make one wrong move, everyone I love is dead in hours. Yes, definitely too early.

"President Snow wants me to make sure that you understand he will be anxiously following your relationship with Gale Hawthorne," she says.

It is harmless enough. To anyone but me, it would sound like sweet well wishes from our beloved President. But I know better. Those words are both a threat and a promise. The entire room darkens, and I know this is no longer about my romance or my family. This is about any threat I may pose to Snow's precious government. I gulp hard and fight the feeling of deflation. My smile is totally gone by this point, and my pulse races against my skin.

"So, be careful."

It is amazing how often I am getting that advice lately. Her advice is not sincere, though, and as I look back up at her, she smiles at me.

"Good," she says.

And I know that the Devil must smile that way after he steals someone's soul away. I give the camera one long look, a look that I'm sure is desperate and distant. Snow, I think to myself, I'll play your game even if it kills me.

* * *

**Yes! I know! No Gale! Don't hate me! He is coming back. But I needed to lay down this crucial foundation before we go any further! Thank you all for reading! I love my beta, Ooyeteri, for makingsense of this chapter! This chapter is dedicated to every one of my lovely reviewers! You are all fabulous! If you have been reviewing, I hope you continue! If you haven't reviewed yet, what better time than the present?**


	12. Chapter 12

After I am dismissed from my interview, I want nothing more than to chase Gale down, to hunt him and make sure that every part of him and his family is safe. But that night, my desire to find him is combatted by the adrenaline, which whips out of my body like a Capitol train before I can leave the house. I spend the night allowing my stomach to revolt against itself, shaking in fear, combatting my demons and trying to get some sleep. I am caught between worrying over Gale, wondering if he is alright, and cursing him for manipulating me the other night in front of the camera crews. The pictures worked, yes. But not the way we wanted them to. Snow got those pictures, not the sponsors.

But the moment I wake the next morning from my haze, I know I will not be going to school. I will not be seeing Gale. I stand to get dressed, but immediately fall back into bed and rest there for a moment, closing my eyes and trying to slip back into blessed sleep. But my body refuses to obey. My throat burns with every breath, strained from the vomiting and the tears I coughed back for fear that someone from the Capitol might hear and think it of note. My head throbs. Everything in my body rebels against sleeping once more. My eyes snap open and I throw myself out of bed. By this time of morning, the house is nearly empty, all save for my mother. Part of me feels guilty for having neglected her the last few days in favor of my new relationship with Gale, so I resolve to spend the skipped school day with her. At least here, I reason, I can keep an eye on her and Katniss.

The school year is coming to a close anyway, and the games make our teachers more apathetic than ever. Besides. It's not as though we don't already know what we're going to be. Our lives have been chosen. Miner. Surveyor. Mayor's daughter. Why attend school when my path is so clear?

Thinking over all of this, I trudge from my bedroom on the second floor to the kitchen on the first, scooping up a plate of baked breakfast goods and a still warm tea kettle before laying them on a platter. Judging from the disarray in the kitchen, our guests must not have left too long ago. I manage to grab a few tea cups and some canned honey as well in my early morning fog. My slow and heavy steps resound through the empty hall as I trudge toward Mother's room. When I reach the door, I balance the tray in one arm and turn the handle.

Caesar's grating voice mumbles commentary from one corner of the room. My stomach rolls uncomfortably at the thought of my interview becoming a talking point for him in the days to come, and I am suddenly thankful that I have no more food left for my stomach to lose.

"Mother?" I ask.

Her response snaps through the air, cutting it like one of Katniss' arrows.

"What?"

Daddy must not have left too long ago. It takes a while for my mother's irritable jonesing to subside after a dose of Morphling. It is more than frustrating that the only time I ever see my mother, really see her, is when she is twitching for her drugs.

In spite of it, I smile a small smile at her, watching as the sun plays against her waxy skin. Her face is set grimly on pillows propped up against the sterile, white headboard, her eyes flick from one end of the room to the next, never resting. Her expression speaks volumes though I cannot catch her gaze.

"Well, close the door. Your father hates it open," she says with a sigh, collapsing even deeper into her pillows and allowing her focus to divert to the Career pack's camp on the television screen.

I immediately do what she says, closing the door behind me and setting the tray at her bedside. I sink into the chair beside her.

"Breakfast?" I ask, smiling and trying to deny the reality before me.

My mother shakes her head.

"Not hungry. I'll eat when your father gets home."

She watches with acute awareness as Caesar pulls up a digital map of the arena and begins making marks in obnoxious digital highlighter, trying to predict the Career pack's hunting patterns, and-more importantly- who they will most likely encounter today. My mother and I sit in silence as Caesar says, almost dismayed, that they will most likely not encounter the girl from Twelve today.

"Well, Caesar is obviously missing the fact that they could just as easily cut across the ravine and find her before sundown," my mother says clinically.

She has watched more Hunger Games than anyone, studied them a though they might give her answers to questions she has never spoken aloud. So, when she says they could find Katniss, I believe her.

I turn completely to look at my mother's shivering form.

"Mother-" I begin, fear rising up in my throat.

Mother is right. And should the Careers understand what she does, my greatest fear is realized. Caesar cuts to an image of Katniss checking the ropes in her tree, and my mother speaks again.

"She's wearing my sister's pin."

Mother stares at the television set, her words cool and measured. There is no trace of what she feels within them. I nod and look down at my hands, waiting. What is there to say?

"You think she'll be a symbol?" My mother asks, her words starting to lose their definition as the morphling begins to take effect.

I watch Katniss adjust the ropes around her waist.

"No, ma'am," I say, shaking my head.

And it is the truth. Katniss could never be reduced to just a symbol. She will always be a person. And that's why she had to have it. My mother turns to me, looking out of the corner of her hazed eyes.

"Then why give it to her?" She asks.

There is no sense of betrayal or dismay that I gave away my mother's only tangible memory of her sister. Only slurred curiosity.

"Because Aunt Maysilee would have wanted a Victor to have it," I say simply.

My mother looks at me for a long moment, and without saying anything, she speaks volumes. She uses all of her effort to smile a small smile at me before reaching over and patting my hand once. The first time in a long time I can remember her ever even touching me.

"Yes, she would."

And before I can respond, her eyes are sinking closed, growing heavier and heavier with each ticking second that the Morphling takes control. I watch, helpless, as I lose my mother to the drugs that pull her from her living nightmares.

My mind reels after my mother's words. They are simple and sweet, but I cannot help but feel that she just gave me all she had within her. Hope fills me, unexplainable, indescribable hope. If mother of all people believes she can win, then Katniss has just as good a chance as anybody.

The day breezes by. The room remains dark, and I nibble on breads as I keep an eye on Katniss. The map in the bottom corner of the screen tells us where each tribute is, and when the cameras are not trained on her, I lock on the map to ensure that no tribute is edging close to her position. My only friend is getting by in her cocoon for now, but my stomach twitches as I realize the Game makers will be getting restless soon.

I listen as my mother mumbles nonsense under her breath, mostly names and places that mean nothing to me. Every so often, she moans out my name or cries out for Maysilee. I hold her hand, though I know from experience that this fanciful cure does nothing to help her through the maze of her mind.

When they begin the afternoon recap, I collect the things from the breakfast long past and rise to my feet. There is little to report today, no cannons sound and no major injuries occur. I know my father will be back by now with our visitors in tow. I walk lightly, humming a tune to myself as I swing out of my mother's door. Slamming it behind me, I turn away and straight into something solid. The moment my eyes open, I recognize the dark shirt and the broad shoulders. My world and my heart simultaneously stop. I am caught between relief and terror. In an instant, a sweat breaks out across my forehead. I shriek and nearly drop the tray in my arms.

"What are you doing here?" I demand, scandalized and shocked by Gale's sudden appearance.

Gale seems taken back as I frantically breathe and try to regain control of my own body. My hands are throbbing painfully, screaming in protest at how tightly I clench the tray.

"You haven't been at school for two days," he says defensively, as though this simple sentence explains everything.

My eyes are wide and my face is contorted in a look of shocked disgust. He is a breath away from discovering my mother tucked up in a morphling coma.

"So you just let yourself in?" I hiss, my whisper sounding more like a shout than anything else.

I let out an exasperated breath as I look down the steep stairs. I do not make any move to go down, but I shake my head as I think of the team just waiting for something to happen. For us to linger up here just long enough to speculation to turn nasty, for us to storm downstairs fighting, or for us to waltz downstairs like carefree lovers in the face of this trial. Snow is watching; anything is fair game. I gulp down the surge of emotions rising up within me. Gale doesn't speak, so I continue, trying to peace this puzzle together.

"Wait, you almost kiss me, and now-?"

He cuts me off.

"You're pissed because I played with the reporters?" He sounds genuinely confused.

He leans into me, his eyes bearing into mine. There is something in them that I cannot place, something foreign and confusing, so I file it away in my mind for further investigation.

"No, I'm upset because you're taking advantage of the situation, Gale," I growl, my hands shaking with the effort I exert on holding the tray.

There is too much going on inside me. A fierce desire to protect and a fierce desire to shove him away war between my heart and my head.

"You barge up here, uninvited, because you know they're fishing for a story. And for what?" I give out an incredulous, breathy chuckle, "So you can get a glimpse of me in my-"

I glance downward as realization hits me. My entire body flushes and my entire body slackens. A nightgown. I'm nearly yelling at him outside of my mother's bedroom while I wear a nightgown. I might as well be in a nightmare. This is a nightmare.

I catch Gale follow my eyes and a smirk grows on his face. My outfit must have escaped his notice as well in the heat of our discussion. His eyes light up as my cheeks grow to a satisfying maroon.

"Pretty-" He begins, sarcasm pouring from the syllables.

I know where that is going and want to part of it. I don't want to mentally go back to Reaping Day, and he is in no position to mock me about my choice in clothing. Not today.

"Don't say it," I snap.

He chuckles darkly, and I grind my jaw tightly. I can't very well go downstairs with him in my nightgown.

"Hold this," I command, leaving no room for argument as I shove the tray roughly into his grasp, "And don't move."

I stalk into my room and frantically toss acceptable clothes on, not bothering with a hairbrush. As I blow through my activities, I think about telling Gale what happened yesterday. He should know sometime; just not today.

When I blow through my door a moment later, breathless and unkempt, Gale is, surprisingly, in the precise spot I left him in, holding the tray. I wisp it from his grasp and turn to him expectantly. Surely, there is some comment to be made about my outfit, the state of my hair, something. But he doesn't. I take the tray from his hands.

"I screwed this one up, didn't I?" He asks, getting as close to humbled as I have ever seen him.

He doesn't meet my gaze until his words are done and his jaws are locked.

I wish he hadn't pulled this. I wish Gale had waited downstairs like a normal boy or had never shown up in the first place. I wish he hadn't pretended to kiss me and I wish that Snow didn't have pictures and first hand accounts of it. But mostly, I wish he had not abused my trust so damn easily. My mother's entire "sick" facade could be blown by him taking three steps. Of course he screwed this up.

"I'm sorry," he says.

I am shocked that he actually means it. There is no trace of malice, no trace of begrudging, no trace of sarcasm. He looks into my eyes and apologizes. The force of that knocks me off balance for a long moment, but I regain my center before speaking.

"I know," is all I can think to say, because his sorry isn't going to keep Snow from killing us if we do something wrong.

He looks into my eyes, staring me down with unflinching honesty.

"I was worried. You didn't come to school and I was worried that-" He stops abruptly there, gulping roughly.

He finally breaks eye contact, looking down at the ground and shrugging.

"Never mind. It was stupid of me to come here. You're right."

Gale looks completely deflated, his voice flat and lifeless. In that moment, I'm almost sorry for him.

I turn away from his pained expression and take my leave down the stairs, hoping that he will follow and not linger behind. I know that my mother wouldn't have been disturbed by our discussion, but I plaster a smile on my face for our guests as we pad down the carpeted steps.

"And it looks like Katniss Everdeen may be in a bit of trouble-"

I turn on my heel and swing into the living room, my ears having picked up the sound from the hallway.

"I told you it would be fire!"

Fire?

"Madge!" Karma shouts, gleeful as ever.

Oh, right. Gale and I are here to play sweet lovers and faithful friends. This is good for business. My stomach turns sour and I ignore the gaze of my father, who sits on a chair in the corner.

Then I see it. I slam the tray to the coffee table, disrupting the glasses already resting there, but when I stand to my full height, my body remains completely and totally still as I watch a wall of fire track Katniss through a forest. Gale rushes to my side, his hand brushing mine before recoiling.

"Girl on fire, indeed," a voice snipes from one of the couches.

If I weren't so invested with what is on the TV screen, I might have taken that moment to hit someone for the first time in my life. But I don't. It feels as if my entire body is magnetized, stuck to the spot, and I can neither swallow nor move at my own command. My body doesn't want to breathe, because it's more effort not exerted on Katniss, but I command my body to obey me. My chest shallowly rises and falls as I watch her scramble, dodging the campfire gone awry.

"Oh, Seneca Crane must be having a field day with this!" squeals one of them.

I keep my eyes trained on the television, twitching as Katniss skirts around a falling branch.

"Come on, girl!" My father shouts, losing his cool composure for the first time since I can remember.

The sounds in the room stifle my hearing, like a bee buzzing directly next to my ear. I clench my fists and swallow down the urge to snap at the next person to speak.

I shove the air out of my lungs as Katniss sinks into a pool of water to cool her ailing leg, the fire gone around her. There is peace once more, in my home and in the arena. Caesar is silent, my guests are silent, Gale is silent, and I am the most silent of them all.

My eyes watch, unblinkingly, as the camera shifts and the Career pack approaches, watch in horrified quiet as Peeta allows them to run her up a tree, allows them to hunt her like an animal.

"God damn son of a-" Gale rubs a hand over his mouth to stop the stream of curses that explode out as Caesar zooms in on Peeta's handsome face and comments on their "star-crossed" status.

I don't even have the capacity to feign shock and horror at Gale's language in my father's presence. I know Peeta must have an angle. But I agree with Gale. That angle won't work for much longer if he lets the Careers kill her off.

The screen splits to show two angles, Katniss in the tree and the Careers making camp down below. I know that they hope to starve her out.

"She won't last," a voice says behind me, though not to me.

They are probably right. But I refuse to believe it. We need Katniss. I watch as Cato sharpens his knife and mutters threats to my friend up in the tree as though he were threatening a weaker child in the schoolyard. The flames of their fire glint maliciously in his eyes, and I swallow down bile that rises up to my throat as he tests the blade's sharpness on his palm. He bleeds the moment it touches his skin. If Katniss tries to escape, there will be no hope for her once Cato grabs hold of her.

As the droplets of Cato's blood fall to the forest floor, my mind wanders into dangerous territory, imagining the kind of damage the weapon could do to Katniss. The blood rushes from my face as, for the first time, I actually allow myself to envision the horror, the nightmare that her death would be. Those images morph and mold into Gale and I rising for our executions, publicly, painfully, to show what disobedience to the Capitol means. I feel the blood rush from my face as my breathing gets shallow.

"Don't let your mind go there," Gale mutters into my ear, as though he can read my thoughts.

I look up at him, confused.

"If you let yourself go there, you'll never get out."

His voice is so pmined that I have no choice but to believe him.

* * *

**So, the return of Gale! Don't worry! He will be pretty much there until the end, so stay with me! I hope you enjoyed it! Please review!**


	13. Chapter 13

An hour ticks by too slow between Gale and I, mentally trapped somewhere between the arena and my home in the Mayor's house. I try everything to bring myself back down to earth, from counting Gale's breaths to setting my blinks in time with the ticking of the clock. Nothing pulls me away from the arena, though, until Vicky materializes before me.

"I was hoping we could get some pictures of you two?"

Her eyes are hopeful and false, painting a picture that I know Gale doesn't buy any more than I do. I purse my lips and look up at him.

"Gale has to bring his brothers home," I supply.

I know that we should, we must, play along with the Capitol. But Katniss is inching ever closer to death. I am in no mood to play with Snow's government.

"Yeah. I do. Walk me out?" He asks, completely ignoring the woman standing before us.

I smile, glad that he has taken the hint. Or, perhaps he didn't take the hint. Perhaps he is just as exhausted by this day as I am.

"I was hoping we could see you both. Together," The woman says pointedly.

Suddenly, I am acutely aware of the unashamed gazes of everyone around us. Gale shrugs and gives one of those winning, but completely phony, smiles that would knock any girl, including me, off of her feet.

"Don't worry. I'll be back," he says, letting go of my hand and smoothly placing his arm around my shoulder.

Even I melt for that moment. My body reacts, sinking into his chest ever so slightly. It occurs to me how real it feels, though it's faked. There is a note of sincerity in his tone, as though he would actually enjoy spending time trapped in this house. But, I watch as Gale grimace ever so slightly, as though the words are bitter or as though he is surprised with how easy the lie is. Vicky buys it, her raspberry red lips curling into a pinched smile and her hands clasping over her chest.

"Oh, of course you will," the words slide out of her mouth with syrupy sweetness.

There is, of course, an air of disappointment about Vicky. She would have been the first to actually get legitimate photos of the cousin and the Mayor's daughter, but she holds onto Gale's promise tightly, turning away from us and flying into a frenzy with her partners. With her return, the room breaks out into conversation once more, brought to the brink of frenzy at the prospect of seeing the pair of us together in such a public forum.

"Come on," I say, looking up at Gale from my position.

He nods and pulls me away from the room of tittering attendees and toward the front door. We walk in tandem through the door and down the steps until we are alone. I extricate myself from his grip and stand before him, making sure that my back is to the house so the television crew will not catch glimpses of me.

"I'll occupy them for as long as I can. Maybe I can keep them from ever getting us both," I say, bashfully staring down at my feet.

"Okay," Gale says.

He starts to walk off, I can hear the crunching of the gravel, but then he returns.

"I promise you won't see me anywhere near your bedroom unless you ask me," he says.

I look up and see him smile. It's a tight smile, as though he is nervous that the joke won't go over as well as he hopes. It's not his usual cocky ones, and the hint of anxiety makes my own shrink as something pleasant and warm uncoils deep from my gut. I can't deny that there is something sparking within me that I can't control.

"Don't count on it," I quip with a smirk.

He chuckles and nods his head as if to say, "Fair enough." Then, he bobs his head once and gives a flick of his wrist as a wave.

"I'll see you later, then," he says. But before he can turn away, I speak.

"You don't have to worry about me," I say, thinking back to this morning, his sudden appearance because he was worried.

Gale looks up from the ground and gazes into my eyes. His body locks up, his arm folding as he tightens his jaw and juts his chin out. He does that thing with his eyes that only Gale can do. He unravels me from the inside out, as though going through my eyes might force me to confess any number of my deepest secrets. It warms my entire body from the bottom of my feet to the ends of my fingers, electrifying every nerve ending and stopping my breath in my chest. It is terrifying and endearing all at once.

"I know I don't," he says, nodding.

He lets a breath pass between us before finishing.

"But I do anyway."

Later that night, I find myself in my mother's room, listening to the commentary as a summer wind blows through her thin white curtains. My eyelids droop, and I feel my body sway against the chair at mother's bedside. Mother has been asleep for hours, her morphling knocking her into a satisfying slumber, but the sun has been down for hours and I have not been able to let myself doze. Sitting beside my mother, feeling her so close, gives me more strength than I can even articulate. She lost her sister and her self to this government, to these games. Sitting beside her reminds me why I am playing with Gale. It isn't just about Katniss. It's about everyone who has been wronged. Bringing Katniss home would be the start of something big, I can feel it in my bones.

My mind flits uncomfortably, hazily, from corner to corner, thinking of everything that has transpired the past few days. It recalls Snow's interview and Gale's confession of worry. Each wave of information processed brings with it a new layer to the headache pounding against my temple, another stress added to the mountain already on my shoulders.

But a few simple words from Caesar Flickerman breaks through that, cutting through my fog like someone shattering through ice.

"It will take a miracle for Katniss Everdeen to make it out of this one."

My eyelids burst open and I look up at the television screen. The Careers sleep, with the girl from Two struggling to keep her eyes open on watch. Katniss is still tethered up in the tree, and I stare as the camera pans in closer on her face.

A miracle. A miracle. Not all miracles come from the Heavens, I think to myself as my body bolts from my seat without my mind's total permission. Without thought of a sweater or permission from anyone, I struggle to slip on a pair of shoes as I rush down the stairs. I have a single thought running through my mind. Get to Gale. Get to Gale.

Out of the door like a shot, I instantly curse my decision to ignore the sweater hanging by the door. A hazy rain falls over the district and a chill runs through the air. But I don't let it stop me. My steps hasten to a slow jog, as I peel through the District, letting dimly lit houses and flickering lamps guide me across the cracked sidewalks. I mentally pray that the Peacekeepers are too drunk or tired to patrol tonight. Sprinting through the district in the dead of night would surely be classified as "suspicious behavior."

Finally, after feeling my way across the Seam and into block B, I creep around Gale's home, peering into the low-lying windows. The house is dark; no one stirs. But I am not concerned. Katniss is in the front of my mind. Reaching up on tip-toe, I crane my arm upward and tap frantically on Gale's window.

"Gale!"

Five or six knocks.

"Gale!"

I hear a rustling from inside the thin walls. Staring upward at the peeling paint, I watch a pair of strong arms slide the window open. Gale's face peers down through the opening. His eyes are tired, half lidded, but he rubs them and gazes down at me.

"Madge?" He half whispers, half shouts.

His eyes are no longer tired, but alert and both terrified and confused.

"Are you okay?"

I nod my head and laugh.

"Of course. Why?"

His head tilts downward and his eyes grow dark.

"You're pissed that I show up at your place and you're here? Really?"

I hadn't thought of that. My lack of foresight nearly knocks me off my feet.

"Oh," I begin, "I realize that this must not look good—"

Gale leans against the window, his arms rippling against one another in the summer breeze.

"Keep it down," he chides. His gaze is sharp and pleading. Everyone must be asleep, I realize. It is late enough.

"I want to take up a collection for Katniss and wire the money to Haymitch. I have some money saved up, and if we take a collection, Haymitch should be able to get her something."

I spit the words out before Gale can send me away. The look in his eyes and the set of his shoulders say he is close.

"What?" He repeats; his brow furrowing as he looks at me.

I nod, not knowing what else I can do.

"Yeah. She'll need supplies and she can't get them up in that tree." My simple explanation only serves to confuse Gale more.

"So, why did you want to come out here to tell me that in the middle of the night?"

Oh. I mentally take a moment and retrace my steps from the last thirty minutes. Caesar's concern, my idea, and then my frantic departure from home to find Gale. Really, I don't know why I needed to find him now. Surely, this could wait until morning. But my mouth speaks before I register it.

"Because I need you."

Gale settles into his position at the window, looking off into the distance at something I can't see. Then, after a moment, he looks back at me, his eyes full of emotion. He swallows it away before pushing away from the windowsill.

"We'll start in the morning at the Hob," he says. I watch his body tense. "Get some sleep. Busy day tomorrow. Meet me in the square at sunrise."

And with that, he is gone into the darkness of his room.

* * *

**I'm so sorry that this chapter is late! I try to update once a week, but I had a bunch of life stuff get in the way. I'm so sorry! But I hope you enjoy it!**


	14. Chapter 14

The next morning, I am awake and in Daddy's office before anyone has an opportunity to crack an eyelid to the bleeding sunshine. I wear my most modest of outfits, sensible shoes and no makeup. There is no telling what kind of day to look toward. I am going to the Hob with Gale Hawthorne to pool money together to save our best friend from brutal death in the arena. That is a sentence I never thought I would ever say, and I have now thought about Katniss, nightmared about her death, enough that the images and horrors of the thought no longer shoves my stomach into torturous knots. It is a cold, clinical possibility, no longer the stuff of my nightmares, but a real thing that could be lurking just around the corner. I chew on my tongue as I look down at Daddy's desk. I could easily pull open the wooden cabinet and spin the dialed lock of the silver safe that lies within. I could reach into that box and pull out my life's savings. I could do it all easily. It is all a matter of knowing where the safe is and knowing the easy five digit combination. I know both of those things. But I sit, hands in my lap, and wait for Daddy to enter his office and begin his busy morning of entertaining visitors and leading a district.

He appears a few moments after my fingers begin itching to just dive in and take what belongs to me.

"Oh!" He exclaims, his voice colored with the surprise that comes from being snuck up on by your only daughter.

I turn my head, blonde hair twirling, and look up at him. I am not nervous, but any butterflies about the upcoming day dissipate from my body as he smiles at me, wide and sincere.

"Good morning, Madge," he says, crossing close to me and folding me into his arms, awkwardly, as I remain seated in my chair.

I close my eyes in his arms and inhale the scent of his work jacket. The stale smell of our house and the scent of this week's laundry detergent push toward my nose, filling up my mind. I wonder at his enthusiasm this morning, but a small voice in the back if my mind reminds me that my best friend is very near close to death; fathers are sensitive to that sort of thing.

"Now," he says, pulling away and u buttoning his suit jacket to sit in the chair across from me, "What has gotten you away from Gale and here in my office?"

His eyes are clear as he gazes across his desk at me. He doesn't judge or condemn with his words. Instead, he folds his hands and leans closer to me with his face aglow in the room's lamplight.

"Well, I need to dip into my savings, Daddy."

I just come straight out with it, thinking of no better way to broach the subject that blunt honesty. This isn't for me. This is for Katniss. She can't get home if she starves to death in a tree. My father's smile slips only the slightest and his eyebrows raise.

"Just how much do you need?"

There is a beat before I find the voice to answer.

"All of it."

Daddy pulls back away from me, considering me for a long moment. My fingers start to tap on the knees of my long dress impatiently. I am supposed to be with Gale now; the sun is just beginning to rise and Daddy took longer than I anticipated getting in here.

"And I suppose this is for Katniss?"

I nod earnestly.

"Yes. Gale and I are making a collection for Katniss. I'm going to wire the money to Haymitch tomorrow."

He smiles at me, his eyes twinkling.

"That will look very good for the cause."

My stomach clinches at those words. I know he means well, but this isn't for the act. This is real.

"But I can't let you have all of it. It isn't sensible."

I sigh. He is right, as usual. I swallow because I don't want part of it. I want it all.

"Daddy-"

He holds a hand up.

"I have made my decision. What if Katniss needs more later? Don't waste it all now."

A moment of quiet passes between us.

"Then may I have most-" I begin to ask, but he is already out of his chair and crouching before his desk. I hear the clicking spins of the dial lock until finally a resounding metal clack pulls through the room. The safe door slides open, loudly from lack of use, and my father pulls out a nondescript brown sack, pushing it across the desk. The sound of clinking coins, many of them rubbing together, fills the otherwise still room. I stand and hold the bag-lighter than I would have liked-in both of my hands. Daddy crosses to the door and looks at me with a long, weary, fatherly stress induced sigh. He swings the door open for me and ushers me out.

"I won't even ask if you're sure. Because I already know you are."

I smile lightly. Daddy knows me so well.

When I walk into the square, carrying my coin close to my chest to avoid suspicion, Gale has his hands shoved in his pockets, staring me down. My head dips at the frustration of his stare as I shuffle closer to him. No turning back now.

"Remember when you came to my house in the middle of the night?"

He pronounces the last few words with distinct clarity and the volume raises ever so much.

I nod.

"Yeah."

He quirks his eyebrow.

"Oh, really? Because if you remember that, I thought you would remember to be here by sunrise."

I pick up my head and shoot him a sharp look. I know he is sticking his neck out for me; I know I am late. But under no circumstances will I be spoken to that way.

"Gale," I begin, my voice quietly calm, "Drop it. I'm here now."

He sighs and looks me up and down. I can tell he is trying to swallow his emotions, his understandable frustration and anger.

"Yeah," he breathes, "Let's go."

And so we walk in silence, letting the morning grow around us. We are a pair to see, I should think. A rich girl trying to look as normal as possible while carrying a bag of money and her boyfriend trying to keep his composure through it all.

"How-" he pauses as though he is wary of proceeding, "How are you today?"

I look at him out of the corner of my eye, confusion playing across my features.

"What's this about?" I ask, getting whiplash at his sudden attitude change.

He trudges onward.

"We're dating. You said yourself that we have to be nice."

He pauses a beat.

"Even if we don't feel like it."

I look at him for a moment, sighing under my breath.

"And why don't you feel like it?"

I see him smirk.

"Why don't you feel like being on time?" He whips out.

I can not help but laugh at him, just a little.

"You're not really laughing at me today, of all days, are you?"

I shrug.

"Today's as good a day as any to laugh at you."

This silences both of us for a few crunching steps.

"Is there anything I should know before I go in?" I ask as the Hob finally looms in the near distance.

The old coal warehouse is teeming with excited energy this morning. Trading day. Plenty of people out and about. Gale shoots me a look from the corner of his eye as they continue growing closer, pushing out a sigh that clearly says how stupid my questions are.

"Just don't ask Sae what's in the soup today. She's been touchy about that since Katniss left."

He gives me a double take, taking in the image of the bag in my arms as though this is the first time he is seeing it.

"What's that?"

I shrug and hand it over to him.

"My contribution."

His wrist bends with the weight of the bag in his grip, and he is silent for a great many steps, his expression totally unreadable.

"What're you doing now? Trying to show us all up?"

I stop walking.

"I can take it and go home if you'd rather that."

I grind my jaw and wait for his response. In truth, maybe there is a part of me that wants to have the biggest contribution. But I can't tell Gale that. No, we will just play the child's game of "I'll take my toys and go home" until one of us gives in. He stops and looks back at me.

"You would really do that? To Hell with Katniss to prove a point to me?"

The real answer is no. But this is a fight I plan on winning. If he can be pigheaded and antsy because Katniss is in trouble, then so can I.

"Yeah," I spit back, without a moment's hesitation.

He leans back on his hips, his eyes narrowing at me.

"I don't give you enough credit, Undersee. Not nearly enough. C'mon."

I am so occupied by his words that every nerve in my body disappears as he shoves open the door to the Hob. Our task has just begun.

* * *

**I'm so sorry about the wait! Please accept my MOST sincere apologies! It is awful and I just got overwhelmed with life stuff. But please review! Even if its to tell me how much you hate me. :)**


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